


The Scene

by messjon



Category: Pierce the Veil
Genre: M/M, Perrentes - Freeform, Totally platonic perriado
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-20
Updated: 2014-11-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 08:57:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 26
Words: 96,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1144039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/messjon/pseuds/messjon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in an underground club, drama does as drama does by inhibiting the wants and needs of Mike Fuentes and Tony Perry. Too far gone to give up the lifestyle, they cope. After all, who needs love when you've got sex, drugs, and rock & roll?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

My vision since I've been here has gone to shit.

First of all, you've got your relentless stage lights, which assholes like Kellin Quinn insist upon. Not only do they lead to headaches and anger problems, but they damage your vision to the point where it's impossible to see in mild to extreme sunlight. Then there's the inventory thing—my boss, Austin, is manic about making money, and a good eighty percent of that comes from the bar, run wholly and solely by me (except on the days when Oli takes over). Don't get me wrong; Austin's a great guy, but making me go over the income every time someone buys a drink is making me nearsighted.

It doesn't help that I'm getting my lights punched out right now, but what can you do?

Fights aren't common here, except on the occasional Thursday when a metalhead gets a little too excited, and I don't know if this even counts as a fight. I'm hunched over, tasting blood, and gasping while Tino dishes it out. He's being really clear on how I fucked up.

"Don't—" Smack!

"Mess—" Pow!

"With—" Crunch!

"My—" Thud!

"Friends—" Slam!

"You—" Bam!

"Cunt!"

And he steps back. To be fair, I pissed Vic and Kellin off pretty badly. The brick wall behind me agrees when I fall back and scrape my head on its surface. Tino gets in real close, close enough that I could kiss his pretty little eyes if I wanted to.

"Understand me, Perry?" he hisses.

I nod, not trusting my voice to retain its strength after that little lesson. Tino spits on my shoes—god, they were brand new—and turns around. The pounding music intensifies when he opens the door and subsides once it's closed.

"That went well," I mumble to nobody. Immediately after, I turn to the side and cough up a little blood.

Once I'm composed, I stand and limp toward the door. As far as I can tell, I've got a pair of black eyes, a possibly broken nose, a busted lip, and a nice slew of bruises from my ribcage to my lower back. A twisted ankle, too, but that's my own fault. Tripped on my way to get my ass beaten.

Jaime greets me when I exit. I flip him the bird and offer my best glare as I make my way back to the bar. Indifferent, he just whistles.

"Damn, today is  _not_  your day."

"Fuck off, man. I just want to go home."

He grins. "Shame you have another two hours. Oh, and by the way, Austin's looking for you. He's  _pissed_. Leaving the bar unattended isn't very professional."

I sigh and mutter a series of curses. I arrive at the bar and everyone from the lounge area rushes over. Fucking alcoholics. I was gone ten minutes, tops.

While I begin to take orders, Jaime slips under the barrier and sits against the cupboards so that he's out of view to those on the other side. Austin doesn't really care that he chills here with me, so long as he pays for his drinks, but if he's pissed, Jaime had better be careful.

"Hey, Tony," smiles a fiery redhead. "Four shots of tequila."

I pour them and slide them across the counter.

"There you go, Hayley. On your tab?"

"Yeah. And you know what?" She gives me a once-over. "Add an extra one for yourself. See you." She takes her drinks and carries them over to her friends.

While I know Hayley means well, I don't need the shot, so I just write down the four and put the tab sheet away. Hands flutter from the back of the group, hoping to be let through. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a bottle of vodka slide from one of the lower shelves. I kick Jaime in the side and he grumbles, but hands me the cash.

"Buzzkill," he says. "Don't you ever skim a little? I mean, you handle all the income shit. Austin would never know."

"Alan goes over everything at the end of the month. I'd only get away with it once or twice."

Jaime sighs and takes a swig. He's been drinking a lot more recently. It's begun to show, too—bags under his eyes and all that. Maybe he's taking the Zoe thing harder than he lets on.

Amidst the drink-mixing and cash-collecting, a tall figure descends from the VIP stairs clad in skinny jeans and a Slipknot t-shirt. He may be in charge of everyone here, but Austin is no suit-and-tie guy. I have the sense to get scared when he sets his course right to me. I couldn't get fired; I haven't fucked up nearly enough and I've worked here for a long time. But a pay cut? Sure. And that would be my demise. With this job and my current salary, I just have to come here Thursday through Sunday at nine PM and work six hours. That earns me a modest apartment and three nights of ultimate freedom, but if I were to suffer a blow to my wallet, well...I'd have to get a real-world job. And  _nobody_  wants that.

The crowd of customers parts to let Austin through. He bumps fists with a few of them, but when he turns to me, he looks furious.

"Hello, Mr. Carlile," I say, keeping my voice as level as possible. Still, I croak a little. Damn Tino. Damn me being a pussy.

"Perry, what do I pay you to do?" he says. I swallow.

"To serve drinks, sir."

"I pay you to make me a profit," he spits. "Perry, not only do we not get paid when there's no bartender, some bastard could slip right under the barrier and steal from us. And do you know what happens then?"

"It comes out of my paycheck, sir."

"That's right. When this crowd goes down, you're going to take inventory, and if anything's missing, I'll subtract that amount from your pay every week for two months. Are we clear?"

I try not to wince, and nod. "Yes, sir."

"Good." He sniffs, eyeing me up and down. "If this happens again, I'm giving you the fine-print treatment."

My eyes widen. "Y-yes, sir. I understand."

"Then get back to work."

Once he's out of earshot, I let out a big breath and Jaime releases an obnoxious belt of laughter.

"Oh my god!" he claps. "The fine-print treatment! Tony's going to get the fine-print treatment!"

I grab someone a beer and snap, "Shut the fuck up! I am not!"

"Dude," he snickers. "Remember when Shay got it? He was so scarred, he never came back."

"Yes, Himes, I remember." I roll my eyes. "I had to help him drink whiskey and take a shit."

"Oh my god, dude. You better not piss off anyone from The Vibe again or else you'll get a beating from them and one from Austin. And you'll kind of like the one from Austin."

I slam a fist down on the counter. "Preciado, this whole thing was  _your_  fault. Stop being a dick about it."

He falls silent and shamefacedly sips some more vodka. I dish out shots, beers, and tonics in the empty conversation. I feel a little guilty. Though it was his fat mouth that told Kellin what I did, I know it was my fault I got pummeled.

But if you really want to pin the blame on anything, it was that Friday in September three months ago, a debt, and my inability to stay away. That's where the story begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original version of this was set in 2012 but I changed it to 2014. Just clarifying that.


	2. Chapter 2

The lights that night were blue. The Vibe was doing a theme show—something about the ocean. When the heavy entrance door opened to let some more people in, they were on a song about drowning. Very angry, very desperate. The funny thing is, this club was started so people could have an underground metal-based place to hang, but the only night you get real metal is Thursdays. The Vibe occupies the stage Friday and Sunday, and the smaller, softer groups like Alex & Tay go on Saturdays.

Sometimes on Thursdays, Alan takes over the bar for an hour so I can get in with the crowd. A group called World War Who plays every other week and I really dig them. Austin's trying to find more hardcore bands willing to play regularly who won't rat us out. We almost had to shut down after Magma Monsters. Suffice to say we never saw them again. It's just as well; they only knew three chords.

Jaime sits on the counter with a beer in hand, telling me about some chick he met in the music store upstairs.

"I'm telling you, man, _huge_ tits. And she was buying The Vibe's demo, so she's not into regular shit. I dropped the code word but she didn't pick up on it, so I guess she doesn't know about this place. But I got her number. She might make a nice addition once we kick someone out. And once I fuck her."

"Nice," I offer. Since he's the town gossip, I add, "Any word on who might get kicked out?"

He shakes his head and gestures behind me. I turn and take another order.

"Nah," he sighs. "But eviction day's not until next week. I could do some poking around before then."

"Cool."

He sucks down some more beer while I serve drinks to the growing crowd. The song is over, but Vic's doing a soft riff while Kellin talks to the crowd. Tino's just tapping the snare drum like an innocent little virgin he's fucking. They're a pretty good band in the sense that they have talent. They just don't always know what to do with it. They only have one guitar, and they say it gives them 'the bare essence,' but I think they're just too high on themselves to give another guitarist a chance. And honestly, I'm pretty sure Kellin's only in it for Vic and the reputation. Otherwise, he'd be doing Michael Bublé covers in coffee shops.

"Tony!" squeals a voice to my left. It's Sierra, I know. I'm her flavor of the week.

"Hey," I say with a forced smile. Sure, she's hot, but a girl like her wouldn't keep a guy like me. She's the life of the party, and I'm Tony Perry, the buzzkill. It's best if I don't try too hard.

"Oh my god, babe, I'm so ready to try that tonic again. What did you call it?"

"The silver sp—"

"The silver spike! Yeah! It was fucking delicious, and it was _perfect_ with Phil's molly. Damn. Fix me _up_ , boy!" She bangs a dainty hand on the table with surprising force. I grin, for real this time. She's already a little drunk, and it's cute. While I mix her drink, Sierra mocks Kellin's monologue. Jaime laughs to appease her, catches my eye, and raises his eyebrows twice. I'm not sure if that means he wants her or if he wants me to have her. Either way, I'm cool. Jaime would probably take her home and fuck her, but I'd just make out with her on the couches after the bar closes up. Any further and it'd be awkward every time she ordered a drink.

"Here, Sierra. On your tab?" I ask as I slide the glass across the wood. She peeks up beneath her eyelashes.

"How 'bout I pay you with a kiss?"

Damn. I hate when they say that.

"No, cutie. Sorry. I can't give free drinks."

She shrugs as if she knew that answer was coming and says, "Fine. Can I get a kiss for free, though?"

I sigh and smile for her pride's sake. "Maybe if you're still around after I close the bar."

It's an empty offer, but she takes it at face value, saying, "Gnarly," winking, and strutting away.

"Daaaaaaaamn!" Jaime exclaims, followed by a loud belch. His eyes are pinned on her ass, which, admittedly, is pretty nice. "Tone, don't tell me you're going to turn her down. You _never_ have fun."

"Yes I do," I protest. "I just don't fuck people for no reason. That's why I'm the bartender, not his horny best friend."

He knows it's a joke, not an attack on his promiscuousness, so he chuckles and sips his beer.

"Dude, I'm getting her then. I haven't had sex in _days_. But if you want her, just say the word. I mean, how long has it been for you?"

I laugh and exchange a drink for someone's money. "'Dunno. A month or two."

" _What?!_ You've _got_ to go for Sierra. Your come has been waiting for the sweet heat of her pussy."

"I still jack off, you know. It's not like I've been under a vow of purity."

"Well, yeah, but it's not the same. Self-induced handjobs can only get you so far."

I shrug. "True." After a minute of taking and carrying out an order, I add, "I don't know, though. I've been feeling a little gay lately. Haven't fucked a guy since at least before St. Patrick's Day. I'm starting to get cravings."

Jaime nods thoughtfully and chugs the entirety of his Corona. I don't know why he drinks the stuff—we have authentic and delicious San Diego-brewed beer in supply, yet he takes the sellout piss. But I guess that's just kind of his groove, the tried and true. He doesn't care if it tastes like ass.

"Hey," he says a moment later. "I never asked; when you get it on with dudes, are you top or bottom?"

"Why, you interested in getting it on with me?" I grin.

"Yeah, you wish, buddy. I've tried it, and dicks are not my style." He grabs another beer. "But seriously, do you give it or take it?"

I hum. "Depends on how dirty I'm feeling. Why do you ask?"

"Well, you said you're feeling gay. I can try to hook something up for you. So long as you put in a good word for me with Sierra."

"Sure," I laugh. "Just remember, I'm not into bears. And the sex can be dirty, but the guy's got to be clean."

"Dirty sex, huh?" hums a velvety voice from across the bar. "Should I accept a drink from your filthy hands?"

I shift my gaze from Jaime to the unfamiliar voice and my breath catches in my throat. It's a dark-haired man, tall and thin, with an excellent collection of tattoos and mouth-related piercings. God, those are a turn on for me. I don't recognize him, but something in me knows he's fuckable. Mysterious eyes—magically delicious.

"Or," he adds, "are you all talk? You don't look that kinky to me. But those gauges, hmm…always wanted to try someone with those. Convenient handcuff place." My stomach flips over.

"Er…what would you like to drink?"

He yawns, "Gin and soda for now." I get a full view of his edible tongue. "My regular's straight whiskey, but I feel like shaking it up today."

_I feel like shaking you up today,_ I think. Out loud, I say, "You got it."

As I turn around, Jaime hisses, "Make conversation! The universe just gave you a sign!"

I shoot him the bird and grab a glass and the drinks. I pour them in front of the customer and try not to look at him too much. Damn, I don't usually get this flustered. This is what happens when an Incredibly Sexy Man emerges from a crowd of Average Joes. It doesn't help that he caught me admitting I'm not opposed to dirty sex.

"How much?" asks the man as I finish.

"Twelve bucks."

"That's steep."

I smile apologetically, "I know. I'm not the boss."

"I'm sure you get paid well, though, right?"

"Yeah," I shrug. "You know, if you're going to be a regular, I could set up a tab for you. You'd just have to pay off every Sunday."

"Yeah, yeah, cool." He looks over his shoulder. "Uh…just don't do that yet. I'm trying not to drop my name too much right now."

Jaime narrows his eyes. "Why?" He has good reason to be suspicious, too. We've had our share of infiltrations. This guy could be anybody.

"I'm the new dealer in town," he says, easing our doubts a little. "I can't get comfortable until I know I can trust people."

"No shit? What happened to Soupy?"

"Busted. Got caught behind the bridge. Fucking idiot, if you ask me." He takes a sip. "I got called in on a favor. I tend to score the best weed and coke, but I'm behind on a lot of the psychedelics. My bro asked me anyway, though. He says not many people do acid here. That true?"

I blink. "Uh…I don't know too much about that. Most of my friends stick to pot." I glance behind me. "Jaime?"

He looks up from his phone. "Huh?"

"How's the drug scene these days?"

"Oh. Uh…the VIPs upstairs are going through a molly phase. Last month it was coke. The moshers like weed, and those trashbags on the couch will take anything, even if it's shit."

"Okay. Thanks."

He clicks his tongue and resumes texting. The man slides a twenty dollar bill across the counter and downs the remainder of his gin and soda.

"Keep the change, bartender." He winks. Eight dollar tip. Not bad. "I hope I see you around." And with that, he disappears into the crowd.

Once he's confident that the dude is out of earshot, Jaime whoops, "Tone Bone! He was totally lustin' for ya, man!" He pounds my shoulder. "Damn, way to go, brother. You weren't really on your game, but he was so into you."

"Fuck you," I grumble as an ensemble of drunks emerge from the couches and make their way to the counter.

"Six shots of goose, Tony," slurs a stumbling young thing. I recognize her, but can't put a name to the face. I smile, nod, and reach for the vodka.

"Chaser?" I ask.

"We'll take it straight, because we're bad…ass…bitches!" Her friends holler and slap her ass. I laugh in good nature and pour the shots, but I know the type and I'm not a fan.

"Whose tab?"

"Valerie's."

"Really? I don't see her."

"Tony," giggles a small blonde girl. "You're so strict. And hot." Her friends erupt with laughter.

"Look, girls, if Valerie didn't say you could use her tab, she's going to find out and be pissed. You sure you're going to use it?"

"Yes, dad," spits an Asian girl. "Now give us our alcohol."

"Alright." Damn.

When they have their drinks, they stumble back to the couches, effectively spilling most of what they paid for. Or, rather, didn't pay for. I'll have to ask Valerie when I see her.

"Hey," says Jaime, pounding his fourth, empty beer on the counter. "I'm going to take a piss and then do some business."

I nod. "Okay."

"Don't miss me too much."

He passes Jack on his way to the bathroom, who, for once, has no one at his side. He walks toward me and salutes.

"Hey, Tony."

"How are you, Jack?"

"Ugh. It's fucking dead tonight. Can I get a beer?"

"Yeah." I grab his favorite and slide it over. "Where's Alex?"

"Sick or something. On tonight, of all nights."

I select a beer for myself and turn toward him. "What's tonight?"

"Well, besides the fact that the VIP section's empty, he, Tay and I were going to have a threesome. And Jenna might have even joined."

I laugh, but after a moment, it's clear that he's not joking. I try not to let my eyes widen. He and Alex are best friends, and Tay is Alex's girlfriend. I know they're all bi, and Alex and Jack are known to mess around with each other, but that still seems a little odd.

"You got a problem, Perry?"

"No, no," I assure him. "It's fine. Just be careful who you say that to."

"What do you mean?"

"You know how some people like to talk. The story could get twisted. You're a king in here, Jack, it's best to keep it that way."

"Who gives a damn about who I have sex with? People fuck their friends all the time."

"Never mind, Jack. It's cool."

"Whatever." He sips his beer. "How have you been?"

I sigh. "I'm alright."

"Nothing interesting?"

"Not really," I say. And it's not a lie. I've been working here for more than a year, so nothing surprises me. "Sleeping in until noon. Watching TV."

"Lucky bastard. Try working at Burger King."

I scoff and take a swig of my beer. "Try not having a life."

"I don't have one," he protests. "Not outside of here."

"I don't even have one _in_ here," I retaliate. Jack laughs and falls silent. His favorite song is playing. Vic was with him when he wrote it, but no one knows what it's about. It seems kind of sad, so I've never asked.

He sings the words under his breath while he scrapes off the damp wrapper of his beer with his fingernail. It's unsettling because he looks pretty low. I turn away and notice the stock of beers is almost gone. After pulling some from a box on the ground and reshelving, I turn to find Jack looking at me.

"What's it like?" he asks. I assume he's talking about my job, so I report, "Not too bad. Good pay."

"No," he says. "What's it like, not giving a shit about being alone?"

I frown. "Who says I don't give a shit? And who says I'm alone?"

"I don't see a girlfriend," he teases. "Or a boyfriend."

"Okay," I admit. "I'm alone. But why do you think I don't give a shit?"

"I don't know. You're single even though you could have anyone here."

"So are you," I point out.

"It's not that simple."

I ask, "What do you mean?" but he doesn't respond. After a minute, I say, "I couldn't have _anyone_ here. A lot of the girls hit on me, but I hardly see the VIPs. And a lot of people in the crowd don't even drink."

"Well, word spreads about Tony, the sexy bartender."

I laugh. "Sure."

"Sierra really wants you to fuck her, you know," he says before polishing off his drink and standing up. "See you around, Tone." And with that, he ascends the stairs to the VIP section, probably to try out the new stripper pole, and disappears.

After a half an hour, The Vibe finishes off their set, signaling that the night's almost halfway through. Aaron, the host, turns on some hardcore band so that the crowd can keep dancing. Last week, he accidentally put on Lady Gaga and nearly started a riot. He even got punched in the face, but Austin immediately kicked that guy out. He has what you'd call a soft spot for Aaron. Really, it's more like an obsession; a hopeless, undying love. Aaron doesn't know, but his girlfriend does, and she doesn't like it. Austin somehow always finds a way to keep her out of the club. I'd call it unhealthy.

Around one, Jaime returns, sporting a huge grin.

"Hey, man. I got some information you'll love to hear." He slips under the barrier and I fold my arms, ready to receive.

"So," he begins. "First, I talked to Valerie, and she doesn't even know who those bitches are. The ones who used her tab, you know? So I ran that by Aaron and he says there's a good chance they'll get kicked out next week, and maybe even sooner if Austin finds out any more shit they've done."

He pauses to take a breath, during which I nod to let him know I'm listening. "And _then_ , I went upstairs and talked to Justin. Totally hitting on me, the slut. Anyway, he says he banged Kellin and Kellin screamed out, 'Vic!' so Justin was pissed, but then Kellin started crying and shit. Justin offered to hire a stripper to cheer him up, and Kellin said okay, but when the stripper got there, it was a girl! He forgot Kellin was gay! And Kellin was drunk, so he threw up and the stripper left and he slept on Justin's couch.

"So, this morning, Kellin brings Justin to band practice and they fuck in the closet to make Vic jealous, even though they forgot lube, and on their way out, Vic fist-bumps Kellin and says, 'Nice, man!' So Kellin cries again, and I don't know what happened after that, but I went to the bathroom just now and he was doing like eighty lines of coke. Unrelated, I'm taking Kristen home. She's fucking high, man. But now here's the _really_ good part. You know that new drug dealer?"

My ears perk up, but I don't have time to reply, because Jaime's on a roll.

"Yeah, so, his name is Mike. Justin says Vic was the one who invited him. He's twenty-six, so a year older, and it is confirmed that he likes cocks. Now, this next part is just a rumor, but supposedly, he has another piercing, and you'll never guess where."

I flush at the thought. Damn. Cold metal surrounded by hot skin….

"Going once. Going twice. Yep, it's his ballsack. And he keeps it shaved. Er, so I hear. No one here has seen his dick, really. But _you_ , my friend, are going to change that. You know why?"

"Why?"

"Because I talked to Mike—" Oh, shit—"And I mentioned you and he _totally_ looked excited. The thoughts that must've been running through his head…."

"Jaime," I groan. "What the hell? We spoke for thirty seconds and he already knows I want him. Now I seem like a whore."

"No, no! I was cool! 'Hey, Mike. How are you? Good? Yeah, me too. My poor buddy Tony, though, been serving drinks all night. He deserves a massage.'"

"A massage?" I punch his arm. "Fuck you, you totally scared him off."

He protests, "I did _not_. I literally looked into his thoughts and saw him massaging your ass cheeks."

Now there's an excellent fantasy. Fuck Jaime for putting these thoughts in my head. Now I'm going to end up jacking off and being unsatisfied.

"Hey," waves Vic from behind the counter, interrupting our conversation. "You seen Kellin?"

I begin to reply, "In the—" but Jaime stomps on my foot.

"No," he says. "Have you asked Justin?"

Vic chuckles. "To think of it, I haven't seen him, either. They've been friendly lately."

Jaime laughs. "I bet. Well, good luck finding them."

"Thanks. I'll be back for a drink later."

"See ya," I say before he walks off. And before I can go off at Jaime for crushing my foot and being a bitch, he says,

"I have my reasons, Tone Bone. Just don't question me."

Rolling my eyes, I pop open another beer and take a good chug.

* * *

 

The bar closes at three, and by then, most of the people are gone. Half come for the music, some for the sex, and some for the sheer thrill of feeling above everyone else for going to a secret club to party. By two in the morning, the night's usually dead.

I close up shop and check in with Alan, Austin's assistant, assuring him I took inventory. The bar is surrounded in a retractable metal cage since, technically, no one has to leave until four, and people could easily steal drinks. A group is clustered on the stage, dancing to the song that's playing. The atmosphere is very different this late into the night.

I yawn and begin to fish for my keys, but a hand on my arm stops me. I look up; it's Sierra.

"Hey," she says softly.

I reply cleanly, "Hey."

"The bar's closed. I'm still around. How about that kiss?"

I smile dimly. "You still want it?"

"Yeah. Come here."

She grabs my hand and leads me upstairs to the now-empty VIP couches. The shiny new stripper pole sits in the middle. It's covered in sweat. Sierra ignores it, though, and pushes me down on the couch. She climbs on top of me. A brush of the lips is all I get before she pulls back and says into my ear, "How far are you going to let me go?"

I close my eyes. Usually, I'm pretty laid-back, fine with going home and sleeping. I can go months without action. But tonight, a big part of me feels like it's worth it, because, _hell_ , Sierra is really, really hot. I permit, "As far as you want."

For a few moments, she just leans her forehead against mine. I can feel the warmth of her thighs around my jeans, her breath invading my mouth. Finally, she slides her hands up behind my shoulders and dives in.

Our tongues tangle, tiny, almost undetectable sounds dancing from the back of her throat. My hands move to her waist; it feels so delicate, like I'm holding an expensive vase. But it's one that wants me to fuck her, so I squeeze a little.

It doesn't take long for me to get hard and our shirts to come off. We don't care that anyone could walk up the stairs and watch us. In a place like this, you don't ask questions—humans do as humans do.

Later, when I come, a flash of a face sears into my brain. Yes, Sierra is hot as fuck, but I can't help but wonder how this red heat would feel inside him. The new guy, Mike. And as the pleasure dies down, I catch a glimpse of him by the stage, walking toward the door, and I keep wondering. It's not like I went through a love-at-first-sight kind of thing, it's just that he's exactly my type, and I'm allowed to be curious.

As I come back down to earth, my attention is a little more trained on the sloppily half-naked girl on top of me. We catch our breaths, and Sierra pulls up her thong and jeans before rolling off of me. I slip my cock back into my boxers.

As she fastens her bra, she says, "Jaime told me you wouldn't have sex with me."

I grin. "Yeah. I wasn't going to."

"Glad you changed your mind." She leans in and gives me a sloppy kiss. "Thanks for the good time. Wouldn't mind trying it again."

And with that, she pulls her shirt over her head and leaves.

When I go home that night, I'm not thinking about anything. The sex has put me into kind of a daze, like a high. My brain is simply on shore leave.

So I don't think about Sierra. I don't think about Jaime's gossip girl tales. And I certainly don't think of how I haven't felt alive lately, like I'm just surviving, going through the motions; like I'm not awake. Instead, I go to sleep for real.


	3. Chapter 3

On Saturday, we get a decent turnout. Alex is back, so his entourage makes itself known, and I see a few people I don't recognize. This could be good or bad. After each eviction day, ten people can give the password to anyone they deem worthy, which is usually just their friends, and those friends can pass it on. But it's usually kept between the regulars, unless someone new seems like a good fit. We modeled this after an affiliate club in Vegas. Generally, we don't get unfamiliar faces until after eviction day. New people on a normal Saturday like this could always mean an infiltration, but there's also a chance they were invited. Jaime thinks they're Tino's friends, so I don't get too suspicious.

Sierra's onstage right now. She's good, but she only gets forty-five minutes to play. Alex & Tay are in popular demand, so they'll be the headliners tonight.

When she came in, she didn't even make eye contact with me. Not that it matters. We had pretty good sex, which, surprisingly, I haven't grown to regret—but we both know that's all it was. She doesn't feel anything for me. I don't feel anything for her. And even if I did, I wouldn't have time to think about it. I've only been at work for an hour, and twice, I've had to send Jaime back to the stockroom for more bottles. I don't mind; it means I get more tips. He doesn't mind because for every trip he makes, I pay for a drink. We have a pretty good system going.

Last night, he went home early, so he doesn't know that I fucked Sierra. I'll tell him, of course, just not until he has bigger pieces of drama on his plate. I don't want to make it a big deal. Anyway, he's more concerned about me and the new drug dealer.

"So how many times have you fantasized about him so far? Ten? Fifteen? I bet he jacked off last night and thought of you."

I laugh. "He probably had someone there to get him off. A guy like him has bitches crawling at his feet."

"Or a Tony Perry crawling through his head."

"Why are you so obsessed with him? I met the guy yesterday. I know nothing about him. Yeah, he's sexy, but this isn't middle school. Well, not for me anyway."

Jaime punches my shoulder and sniffs. His drink moves to his lips before he replies.

"I don't know, Tone. I took one look at the guy and pictured you taking his cock. I think it's some kind of sexual destiny."

"Yeah," I sigh. "Whatever." But I wouldn't mind if he and I were destined to fuck. "What about you?" I ask while mixing a tonic. "You've got to have something going on."

"Nah, not really. Went home last night, watched some TV. Got up at ten and went to work. Then I came here and carried kegs for you like a little bitch."

"Livin' the dream, huh?"

"Livin' the dream."

There's a massive crowd behind the counter so I stop multitasking and get some drinks out. Sierra's up there with a red Gibson and her smooth voice. Some people here love her, but she's not a rockstar like Vic, Kellin, and Tino, or even Alex. If any of them spend five minutes outside VIP, they get swarmed.

I spot Jack, Alex, and Tay in the mass awaiting their drinks. Jack shoots me a thumbs up and I grin back. When they get to the front, he says, "tonight's the night," gestures to his friends, and winks. Guess he's getting his threesome after all. I offer Alex and Tay a good luck on their show before they're gone.

"What was that with Jack?" Jaime asks. I smile apologetically.

"I'm not at liberty to say."

"What?! Come on, man. You can trust me."

"Really? Who would you tell first?"

"I do _not_ distribute information. I simply take it in. I tell you what I hear because you have special rights as my best friend."

I pop open a bottle of wine and roll my eyes.

"You spread shit all the time."

"I spread _some_ shit. Only what's fair to spread. Someone's being a bitch, I expose them. Someone's loving behind closed doors, I keep it to myself. And you."

"But remember when Shay and Aaron fucked? You told, like, ten people. That fucking ruined him. I haven't seen him since the night Austin punished him."

Jaime sighs. "That was one time, and I feel really shitty about it. Anyway, Aaron deserved to be punished in that one, if anything. Not Shay."

I don't reply. There have been a few choice times when Jaime's gotten people in trouble. Twice, the fine-print treatment has been involved, which is something in the staffs' contract that involves punishment. No one knows exactly what it is, but judging by the way Shay couldn't sit down, it's probably a really sexy, painful beating. If I fuck up badly enough, I could get it, but Austin usually only gives it out when he's in a bad enough mood. Plenty of people have gotten fired but escaped his true wrath.

I've forgotten why we were even talking about it, so I focus on serving drinks for awhile. We just got a new waiter, Oli. He takes peoples' orders up in VIP and brings drinks from me to them. It doesn't seem like he's that happy about staying away from the crowd. Like me, he came here to party and ended up getting a job instead. On Thursday, he was complaining to me, and I had to tell him he'll get used to it. It took me about a year before I really stopped minding why I'm here.

Jaime leaves while I'm lost lamenting. I see him fist-bump Zack, the VIP bouncer, and climb the stairs. Just twenty minutes later, I run out of Irish Cream and have to get more myself. I flag Alan down and ask him to hold down the fort. On my way to the stockroom, I feel a hand on my shoulder.

"Tony," says Sierra. I turn and meet her eyes, my face undoubtedly taken aback. I expected her to be hitting on some other guy by now; I mean, she got what she wanted from me.

"Hey," I manage. "You did well. Er, up on stage."

She laughs. "Thanks, smooth criminal." She traces her fingernails up and down my arm, giving me goosebumps. The fan by the door doesn't help. "Any chance we can hang?"

Wow. She wants me two nights in a row? I didn't think I was _that_ good.

I tell her, "I've got to get some stuff from the stockroom and I don't get off work for four and a half hours."

"Well, I've always wanted to see a bar behind the scenes. Give me a tour."

I scratch behind my ear. "Uh, okay. It's really busy tonight, though. Just warning you."

She nods and follows me out to the hallway. Rian's there, as always, guarding the place. He's on the phone, so he just waves as we enter the stockroom.

"What are we looking for?" Sierra asks.

"Irish cream. And it wouldn't hurt to get more beer."

"Alright." She begins to scan the labels on the boxes. I try, too, but get distracted. She's wearing a ripped up T-shirt and tall boots, her dark hair swinging every time she moves her head. It's just weird that she's pursuing me after I've already been with her. And she's sober for now, so she's acting with poise, something I'm not used to. I've never really done any courtship kinds of things. Is that what this is? She wants me to continue to fuck her until further notice, and maybe even go on dates like real people do?

"What are you staring at?" she asks. I look up, still perplexed.

"Just...what do you want from me?"

Her face falls and I realize I've come across wrong. "You didn't have fun last night?"

"No, I did," I assure her. "I...I'm just not all that smart."

She laughs neutrally. "What the hell does that mean?"

"I mean that I can't tell what you want. I've seen you go home with a lot of guys and not once have you gone home with the same one."

"So, I'm a whore?" she asks fiercely, folding her arms. Damn, I'm really bad at this.

"That's not what I mean. I just don't understand why you're even talking to me now. I...what do you want to happen?"

Her face softens; a small grin splays across her lips as she steps closer.

"I like you, stupid." She grabs my hand and swings it around, causing my mind to race. "I don't know what I want to happen. I just know that you're a pretty good fuck and I'd like to spend more time with you. Can you live with that?"

"I...." I sigh and think about it. I know I don't like her that much, but it seems okay for me to hang out with her. I could probably end up developing feelings if it came down to it. "Yeah. You can...you can come behind the bar today. But I've got to get back there, so let's find the shit."

She smiles widely and gets up on her toes to kiss my cheek.

"Okay. I'll find the cream, you find the beer."

It's appalling how she can bounce from gushy to casual in half a second, but I don't dwell on it. Rian holds the door open for us once we've found what we're looking for. There's a pretty big crowd waiting for drinks; I guess Alan's not as efficient as I am.

"Thanks," I say to him sincerely as I set my box down. He's slow, but he doesn't have to watch the bar for me, and it's nice of him to do it. While Sierra sets her box down as well, Alan helps me get the crowd back down to a manageable level before returning to his office, leaving me, my girl-thing, and a few customers.

To ease the awkward atmosphere, I show her all the drinks we have, and teach her how to mix a few. To my surprise, she sticks to water for the night. I can't fathom why. I'm a bartender; I have nothing against drunks. Our talk for awhile is mostly about my job. Very friendly, very small.

"Where's Jaime?" she eventually asks. It's no secret that he's usually back here, so it's not an odd question.

"I don't know. I saw him go up to VIP a little while ago."

"Oh." She picks at one of her nails. "Did you tell him you screwed me?"

"No." With a burst of honesty, I add, "I was going to. But if you don't want me to, I won't."

She purses her lips. "Well...you can tell him if you want, but do it while I'm not there. I don't want to answer any of his weird questions."

I laugh. "Okay." When the silence stretches on for a few moments, I ask, "Did you tell anyone?"

"No. But a lot of people know I've wanted it."

"Should it be a secret right now?"

She shrugs. "I don't mind people knowing. Do you?"

For some reason, I think of my new interest, Mike, and how I wouldn't want him thinking I'm a whore. Or unavailable. But I say no anyway.

"Okay."

While I serve drinks, she sits down and plays with the hem of my jeans. It's quiet between us for a long time, and I can't help but doubt what she's said. When girls want to get with me, they don't waste time with silence. They either speak or touch me. This can't be how relationships happen. Doing nothing doesn't seem like an effective way of reinforcing attraction. But I'll just ask Jaime about it later. He's had girlfriends; he'll know what this is.

Kellin interrupts my puzzling by grunting loudly as he approaches the counter.

"Hey, Kellin," I say.

"Don't give me bullshit. I need whiskey," he snaps. Damn. The puppy's pissed.

"Alright, man. What's up?" I reach for the Jack Daniel's, the go-to around here.

He spits, "Nothing," but he's obviously intoxicated because he turns and looks directly at Vic, dancing with some girl.

Man, that poor kid is whipped. Vic Fuentes is one of the straightest guys in here but Kellin can't get over him. I can't see why, either. Kellin is one hundred percent gay, but he wants the girlish-looking Vic. I've had dreams where I've fucked Vic's pussy and squeezed his tits. It just doesn't make sense to me, but I guess he has his reasons.

Kellin chugs the first glass, then the second, and then I just leave him the bottle. He needs a therapist, but alcohol will have to do for now.

Just when I'm eyeing the dwindling supply of whiskey in Kellin's bottle and thinking about how much I'm going to have to charge him, Sierra stands up and grabs both of my hands.

"Is it inappropriate to kiss on the job?" She smirks, and doesn't wait for a reply. She backs me up so that I'm pressed between her and the counter. After her hands wrap around my shoulders, she tilts her head up and meets my lips. _This_ feels standard, so I match her movements, holding her waist.

I'd rather pay attention to the way our tongues brush than puzzle over her sitting at my feet in silence. I can handle the friction between two touching bodies. I'm confused by the static of the air between two separate people.

We pull apart when someone clears their throat across the counter. It's Vic, standing next to the girl he was just dancing with.

"I see you've found a babe. Ditching the single life?" he grins. I laugh nervously, not sure what to say. Sierra's not my girlfriend, but she'd definitely be pissed if I fucked someone else.

I settle on a 'we'll see' and take his order. Kellin's gone, probably passed out somewhere since the lightweight just finished a bottle of Jack. If only Vic wasn't so oblivious, the dude would be a lot less fucked up. Feeling a pang of worry, I say, "Kellin's looking for you. You should probably go find him."

Vic smiles obliviously. "Okay. I'll grab a beer for him, too, then."

I slide the extra drink across the counter before they leave. I mark three tallies under the beer section by Vic's name.

I'm not too worried about Kellin, so Sierra and I make out for awhile, which enables me to turn off my brain until Jaime returns.

"What the _hell_ is going on here?" he yelps. I pull back and nonchalantly greet him.

"Tony Perry," he declares. "Getting action for the first time in weeks. Damn, boy! I didn't think you had it in you!"

"Er, I'm going to go," says Sierra, smiling nervously and planting a final kiss on my lips. "I'll be around." I nod, and then she's gone.

"Dude, when are you going to fuck her? You've got to do it right. Take her home, put on some Sinatra, break out the wine...."

"Himes, I already did."

"What?!"

"Yeah, I was going to tell you. Don't get all pissed."

"No, Tony. This is _bad_."

I furrow my eyebrows. "What? Why?"

"She wants to stick around, I can see that. Bro, you can't get a girlfriend _now_."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because of Mike! That's a once-in-a-lifetime fuck, and if you date Sierra, you'll lose that. Dude, you've got to break it off."

I roll my eyes. "That's one night of action compared to indefinite nights of action."

"That's like saying a tour with Justin Bieber or a show with Alice Cooper. You can date Sierra after Mike. Besides, since when do _you_ need sex every five seconds?"

"I don't. But why do you care so much about some guy?"

"Have you even _seen_ him?" Jaime roars. "The dude's kinky. He'll give you an unforgettable night. And you said you wanted cock. Stop being stupid."

I sigh and shake my head. "He wouldn't even have sex with me. I should stick with what I have."

"Tone, you'll never know until you try."

"But what if I blow it? Then I lose both chances."

"Stop being a pussy. You don't even like Sierra. She's not that great, and you already fucked her, so it's nothing new there. If you go after this guy, you either hit the jackpot, or you learn from your mistakes. And if you fail, I'll take you out to a nice gay bar and you can find another kinky dude. I could even get you a hooker."

I laugh and shake my head. The world's so black-and-white for him. Some people would call him stupid or something along the lines of unethical whore, but the guy knows what he wants. And in this case, he makes a great point.

The only problem here is that Sierra likes me, and I don't want to be a dick to her about it.

"How do I break it off with Sierra? She has feelings for me. Or something."

Jaime closes his eyes in thought. A few moments later, he proposes, "Tell her I want her, and you can't break the bro code. It's not a lie; I'd fuck her any day."

It seems reasonable, so I say, "Okay, I guess."

He grins. "Just letting you know that I'll probably try to fuck her. Makes it more believable."

"Yeah," I chuckle. "Where is Mike, anyway?"

"Not here. He could show up still, but no one's seen him yet."

"Oh." My heart drops a little. I was getting motivated from Jaime's pep-talk, but it's a different thing when I can't act yet. I'll be off my game if I have to wait too long.

"It's cool, dude. It gives you more time to think of what to say to him. And do to him," Jaime says, reading my mind. Again, he has a point.

When a horde of people approach the bar to order, I'm too busy to reply to Jaime. That gives him time to read a text, and a reason to change the subject.

"Vic's taking Kellin home!" he exclaims. "Not for sex or whatever else Kellin wants. He was unconscious in the bathroom and now Vic's got to play doctor."

"I knew he'd pass out," I claim. "He killed half a bottle of whiskey."

"What an idiot. A sad, sad, idiot. I guess it worked to his advantage, though."

"Yeah," I agree. Kellin will flip a shit when he wakes up on Vic's couch, or even in his bed.

For the next three hours, I serve drinks and entertain Jaime. He leaves when I close the bar, reminding me to dump Sierra. I had forgotten about that, but I won't go back on it. I'd be leading her on anyway. I mean, I'm not a very emotional guy. It's best to kill the sickness before it spreads.

She's waiting for me by the stage where people are dancing and drenched in sweat. She grabs my hand when she sees me, but I set my expression and take a deep breath.

"Hey. We've got to talk about some shit," I say softly. Her eyes dim knowingly.

"Damn. Already? Well, okay. Want to go upstairs?"

I nod, and we weave through the crowd, past Zack, and over to the red couches where just last night we fucked. Again, I sit first, but she doesn't straddle me this time, and instead sets herself down a whole cushion to the left.

"Tony, I'm sorry. I came on a little strong—"

"No, no, it's not your fault, Sierra."

She groans. "'It's not you, it's me?' Really? That was a four hour relationship; you don't have to worry about my feelings getting hurt."

"No, listen. I told Jaime about us and he was not cool with it. He's wanted you for awhile, but didn't really say anything until today. I can't be with you if he wants you. I'm sorry."

"Oh," she says quietly. Her eyes are fixed on a point on the ground.

"Sierra, you're a really cool girl and a great fuck, but Jaime has been my best friend since elementary school. That's something I can't ignore."

"I get it, Tony. You're an awesome person for doing this for him." She looks up at me and smiles, full of composure. I lay my hand on her thigh and squeeze.

"Thanks for not being a bitch about it."

"Well," she frowns, eyeing the few people in a nearby booth. "Is he still here?"

"Jaime?" I verify. "No. He left."

She bites her lip. "Then...could you give me one more night?"

I sigh. "Sierra...."

"He doesn't have to know. And I won't think any less of you. It's harmless. I just want to make sure I can remember what you're like." She lifts a hand to my face, running her thumb over my shaven cheek. I meet her eyes and I know I want her again. Mike isn't here, this won't ruin my chances. And we can take our time tonight. Make sure it's as good as it can be. So I suck in a breath and ask,

"Do you want to come over to my place?"

Her lips curve up in a half-elated, half-devious grin as she nods. She grabs my hand and leads me outside and we get in my car. I wouldn't be doing this if it really bothered Jaime, but what's the harm if he doesn't care? I'll even tell him I got one more for the road.

It's a meager sixteen blocks to my place, so the mood hardly eases up. By the time we get to my bedroom, I'm anticipating every part of her I could touch.

It's longer this time. A really good fuck. Once we've both come, I collapse on top of her and don't pull out until the aftershocks subside. After I tie off the condom and throw it in the trash, I lie on my back and let her curl around me. Like being woken abruptly from a nap, the music sounds out-of-place.

"Do...do you want me to go home now?" she asks timidly, which is unlike her. "I took a cab to the club, but I could...call a friend or something."

I peek down at her, and though her bare chest rises and falls with control, I can see that she's alert, and maybe nervous.

I say, "No, you can stay. I can take you home tomorrow," because A, I'm not a heartless dick, and B, I wouldn't mind sleeping next to someone. Her sigh of relief is lost among her already deep breaths.

"Thank you," she says. "I know this was supposed to be a one-night thing—er, a two-night thing—so it's cool that you'll let me sleep here."

"Well, why wouldn't I?"

She laughs. "Jaime might be pissed."

Oh. Shit. Yeah.

I shrug it off and say, "He didn't know you came here in the first place."

"True." She yawns and falls silent for awhile. I almost think she's asleep until she says, "You're a pretty good pleaser. You know how to treat a woman. A bit more practice and you could make me scream."

"What, like I couldn't now?" I retort, grinning.

"Keep dreaming, Tony. You'll get there." She pecks my cheek, smiles deviously, and wraps a leg around my waist.

I ask, "Are you trying to go for round two?" but she just sighs.

"Honestly, I'm tired. I should hit the gym more often. Will you be pissed if I just sleep like this and give you wood?"

I shrug. "Go ahead." It's too soon for me to get hard again, and I've had a long day, so I'm not too worried.

"Good night," she says.

"Sleep tight."

"Don't let the bed bugs bite."

And she curls her face into my neck before dozing off.

I had forgotten about Jaime until Sierra mentioned him—and thus forgotten about Mike, so I can't help but think about them now.

Do I really want to pursue Mike when I could easily have this sexy fireball for all my erotic and romantic needs? Sierra's one of the most attractive girls at the club. Yesterday, I was wary because I thought she was a no-strings-attached kind of girl. But tonight, I found one of her strings. Don't twenty-somethings usually chase love?

But then I think of that tall smooth talker and his lips and his hands and I know that it's worth it. Some men are simply sexier than almost any woman, and he's one of them. Jaime says I need to live more, so what a better opportunity than this? It's just one fuck. Sierra might be waiting when I'm done, and if she's not, so be it. I'm not feeling too much excitement about her anyway.

A subtle feeling of satisfaction envelopes me and I turn off the lamp before wrapping my arms around Sierra and settling down.


	4. Chapter 4

When I wake the following morning, Sierra's gone. I find a note in the kitchen.

_Sorry, Tony. Got called into work, didn't want to wake you. Took a cab. When I see you tonight I'll just pretend that shit didn't happen. Deal?  
_ _-Sierra_

And that, unsurprisingly, fills me with relief. I've never really dealt with the morning-after routine, and I imagine it's awkward.

That night, Sierra stays true to her word, casually ordering a drink and dancing with some friends. I tell Jaime we fucked again. He doesn't care once I explain that she wanted one more for the road.

"Good," he nods. "That means you're on your game."

But by the time I leave work, I haven't seen Mike. Jaime had better things to do than find out where he was, so I don't know when he'll be coming back, if at all.

Damn, that would suck if I never saw him again. Dumping Sierra would all be for nothing.

Monday, I spend the day relaxing in front of the TV, one of three days I don't work. That's typically all I do on my days off, but on Tuesday, I get a call from Jack.

"Tone!" he hollers. "Alex and I got the night off; we're going to hit some strip clubs. Want to come?"

I furrow my eyebrows. Strip clubs on Tuesday?

"Uh, are any of them open?"

"Yeah, don't worry. We checked. We found one with girls and two with guys. You down?"

"Um, yeah, yeah, sure. You got a car, or should I meet you there?"

"We'll pick you up. Hey, ask Jaime if he wants to come."

"He's not into dudes, but I'll ask him."

"Okay, cool. We'll pick you up in ten."

"Alright. See you later, man."

Damn. I have plans on a Tuesday. Is this what normal people do, or is it just sad?

After a second, I call Jaime.

"Hey, bro, what's up?"

"Uh, Jack, Alex and I are going to go to some strip clubs and you're invited. But only one has ladies dancing."

"And the others have what? Ladies playing soccer? Fucking each other?"

I roll my eyes. "Dudes, jackass. Want to come?"

He sighs. "Shirtless dudes doesn't sound like any fun at all."

"That's what I thought. Homophobe."

"Homophobe?" he snorts. "I took a cock once and it was consensual. But not sensual. Meaning, no thanks."

"Alright, whatever, Himes. See you on Thursday."

"Later."

In the next ten minutes, I get dressed, put on a hat, and scrub the sleep out of my eyes. Admittedly, I was up until five AM watching Netflix. For that reason, I didn't sleep much; it's hard to keep your eyes shut in broad daylight. Maybe I'll grab a coffee on the way.

True to his word, Jack knocks on my door exactly ten minutes after he called. His Jeep is idling in the street with Alex sitting shotgun. Jack sports a loose t-shirt and shorts in the September heat. It was August only a week ago, so the temperature can still reach the nineties, but since it's the evening and it's bound to cool down, I grab a sweatshirt and follow him outside and down the stairs.

"Hey, Tony," Alex greets me cheerily. "We're going to have fun tonight, am I right?"

Jack throws in a "hells yeah!" and we're off.

Everyone knows both Jack and Alex _really_ like cocks. Alex, of course, has a girlfriend, but he's not afraid to brag about his tight hole. Before Tay, he'd even strip sometimes. As for Jack, he's never had a girlfriend or boyfriend while I've known him, but he'll take anyone home. All of these clubs should be fun for everyone.

"Where are we going first?" I ask.

"Playful panthers," Jack informs me. "That's the female one. It'll be too crowded later."

"Okay."

I know the place. I've been with Jaime a couple of times. He really likes it; he even has a favorite stripper. Lacy, I think. I like it okay, but it has shit music. Not even energetic; it's like some weird techno-jazz thing. That, for me, is enough to disrupt my fantasies.

Playful Panthers is wedged between a bar and an e-cigarette clinic. At seven o'clock, not many people are inside. We show our IDs and grab a table. Onstage is a Latino girl in a red corset swinging around a pole. Jack puts on his seductive face and licks his lips.

We stick around there for about an hour until Jack is out of ones and sweaty, middle-aged men start crowding.

"Oh, man!" he says once we're back in the car. "So far so good, right? Damn. Ivy was my favorite. What about you, 'Lex?" he grins.

"Mm, Ivy. Definitely. You, Tone?"

"Probably Sapphire. Her legs, man," I supply, imagining them straddling my waist. I'm met with a chorus of approval before we set out again. Next is a back-alley gay joint that has no name, but plenty of buff dudes. Jaime made me go with Justin once. Better music than Playful Panthers, but it's hard to say whether the show is better. Ladies and gentlemen are practically different species.

Once inside, we settle around a table, order a few drinks, and let our eyes trail to the main stage. Flashing LCDs advertise that Thor is the dancer. True to his name, he sports amazingly chiseled pecs, long hair, and a Styrofoam hammer in his hand. When we entered, he had jeans on, but he's shed them by now.

He's not really my type, so I let my eyes wander around the room, looking at all the lap dancers. And prostitutes, since this club isn't technically legal. There's a handful of everything here. Flamboyant femmes, bearded bears, and muscled dancers. I even see a few skinnier, darker guys, who appeal to me more than most other types.

And then I see something that stuns me. Near the back, a shirtless Kellin Quinn is touching the shoulder of a wide-eyed young man. Cocking his hip. Licking his lips. Is he working?

A moment later, Kellin looks up and catches my eye. He gapes. Guilty. Quickly, he grabs the guy's hand and pulls him into a back room.

"Guys," I blink. "Did you see that?"

"See what?" Jack asks.

Of course they didn't. Their eyes are pinned to Thor, now teasingly looping his thumb inside his briefs.

So Kellin's a prostitute. God, that poor kid has it rough. I'm not in a position to judge considering I've paid a pretty penny to hookers in the past. Let's just say I had a phase when I was twenty-one.

And I wouldn't judge him anyway. He's kind of an asshole, but the world has dealt him a shitty hand. This must be the only way he can make ends meet. To respect him, I brush off Alex and Jack and instead pretend to be drawn in by Thor's obnoxious flexing.

After an hour, a hand clamps over my mouth and a bony grip pulls me to my feet. I'm alarmed at first, but once I realize it's just Kellin I relax. He pulls me into a hallway without my friends noticing and releases me.

"What's a scumbag like you doing at a strip club?" he sneers. I don't point out that scumbags and strip clubs are complimentary, and instead reply simply,

"I'm hanging out with Alex and Jack."

"Obviously. No need to be a smartass." Kellin puts a hand on his hip. "Did they see me?"

"No."

"Did you tell them?"

"No, dude. I wouldn't do that."

He sniffs. "Good."

Following a brief silence, I grin, "Don't expect me to sleep with you. I only have six dollars left."

"God! I'd never take _your_ money," he squeaks, appalled.

"Relax, I'm joking." I chuckle at his defensiveness. I shouldn't provoke him considering how sensitive he is, but I'm a little buzzed. I care a little less.

"Whatever. Just don't fucking tell anyone I work here. If Austin finds out, I'm dead."

"I won't, okay? Scout's honor."

"Not even Jaime."

I laugh, "Especially not Jaime," and I swear I get a little grin out of him.

"Listen, I'm on next, so you need to get Alex and Jack out of here. And don't let them come back Mondays through Thursdays."

"Alright. We'll leave. I'm not the boss of them, so I can't guarantee they won't come back, but I'll see what I can do." I offer a smile, because he deserves a little slack.

"Whatever. See ya."

"You too. Good luck."

And he pushes me out the door. As for Alex and Jack, I offer a bullshit excuse about thinking I saw a cop and we split. They're trashed by now, so I just drive the car back to my place and let them stay.

"Go-o-o-od!" Alex cackles on the couch. "I'm turned _on!_ " And indeed, his pants are bulging. No one's paying attention to the show I turned on, me included. Jack giggles and fumbles with Alex's zipper.

"I can help you with that," he says, and leans into his neck.

"Mm. Tony, come here," Alex says. I obey.

Soon, we're tangled between three pairs of hands, lips, and legs. But as soon as I come, I retire to my bedroom because I'm tired, and also because I can tell they favor each other.

And anyway, that makes the third night this week someone's gotten me off. If I'm not careful, I'll end up like Jaime, who has only a few-day tolerance for celibacy. I'd better cut down, at least a little.

The following morning I find come stains on my carpet, and a naked Alex and Jack draped over my couch. I don't have the heart to kick them out as they'll probably have wicked hangovers, so I slip out for some coffee. I have a headache myself, and I could use the caffeine.

"Just an americano," I say to the barista.

As I drink it in silence, I realize that I'm not happy. I'm not said, either—just not happy. Is that depression? Maybe. Maybe I need a hobby.

I mull it over with only the coffee to keep me company. It does nothing but fester in my empty stomach. I sigh and down the rest.

* * *

 

At work the following Thursday, I'm in a bad mood. Alan failed to find a band to play, so The Vibe is doing one of their usual sets. All the metalheads are just standing around without a sound heavy enough to mosh to, and it puts a drab atmosphere around the hall.

Jaime feels it too, although he prefers a softer sound than most Thursday lineups offer.

"Damn, Alan must feel terrible. Everyone here wants to punch him in the face."

"Mm," I concur, pouring someone a shot. The crowd around the bar is filling out quickly with nothing to thrash to. At least we'll be making some extra cash.

"So, Tone, how were the strip clubs?" Jaime asks. I think of Kellin, but I just shrug.

"You didn't miss much."

"Really? Nothing exciting?"

As I grab some tequila, I bite my lip.

"Swear not to tell anyone?"

"Ooh, I swear. What happened?"

"Jack, Alex and I messed around with each other. It was mostly them, but they got me off, too."

"What?! Your dick was compressed in skin again? And in the same week! Way to go, Tone!"

I laugh. "Yeah, well, got to take up on my opportunities."

"I'm a little disappointed it wasn't Mike, but still, nice. Did you fuck, get fucked, or both?"

"Actually, just handjobs. I think _they_ fucked after I went to bed."

Jaime groans. "That's it?"

"Yeah. So?"

"A girl could give you that. It can't have been satisfying for your gay craving."

"It's fine, Himes," I laugh. "You don't need to worry about my sexual life. Unless, of course, you want in."

He smirks. "Not that you're not hot, but you can shove that offer right up your ass."

"That's a misleading way to say no to someone asking about gay sex."

He chuckles. "Yeah, you're right. Let me clarify: fuck you."

"That's no better," I point out.

"Shut up," he laughs. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah, don't worry, I don't even want you."

He feigns hurt, and pouts to a girl across the bar, who promptly giggles and drags her fingers over his arm. Jaime has a way with the ladies matched by no other. It's surprising, considering how dorky he was in high school. Awkward afro, magic tricks…I'm surprised he got out alive.

Later, Jack stops by.

"Dude, having seen you since we got it on!" he exclaims, waggling his eyebrows. I chuckle and nod.

"Yeah, you guys pulled the hit and split on me." When I had gotten back to my apartment after getting coffee, they had already left. Can't say I minded; I know for a fact that Alex is cranky when he's hungover.

"Sorry bro. I had to get Alex some aspirin. He was whining."

"It's okay," I laugh. "Better you than me."

"I know how to handle him." He shrugs. "Can I get two beers?"

"Sure." While I find the correct shelf, he looks around the venue. He has a right to his interest; everything looks different with the mood.

"Hey," he says as I return with the bottles. "Who's that guy over there?" He points.

Oh, shit.

Rather, hell yeah.

"Mike," I half-gasp, and then bite my tongue. He's standing by the doors, wearing a look caught between disdain and boredom.

"Who's Mike?" Jack asks while Jaime pipes in, "Did I just hear what I thought I heard?"

I say, "Shut up Jaime," and then turn to Jack. "He's the new dealer. Please don't mention me to him."

Jack laughs. "Is this middle school or something?"

"No, just Jaime fucked things up a little and I have to seem cool." Quietly, I say, "Doesn't he look like a great fuck?" Because I've had a few and I _do_ act like I'm in middle school while intoxicated.

"He does, bro," says Jack. "I take it you have dibs."

"All rights reserved. Tell Alex not to fuck him, okay?"

"Well, Tay wouldn't like that."

Guiltily, I realize that Alex, in fact, has a girlfriend and I jerked him off two nights ago. Still, I know that they trust each other, and with how open Alex is about sex, he probably told her about it. So I just smile and slide the drinks across the counter, simultaneously pulling out the tab sheet from underneath the wood.

"Try to have a good time. I know tonight's kind of lame," I say sympathetically.

"I'll do my best," he winks before sliding away.

There's still a bit of a line, so I take orders while Jaime gushes.

"Mike's back! Oh, dude. It probably won't happen tonight, but you're going to fuck him soon. Or get fucked. You should probably let him decide."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask in mock-revolt.

"It means you're a goddamn pussy and if you try to act dominant with a guy like him, it'll just be off-putting."

"Fair," I shrug. And anyway, it doesn't matter to me whether I'm taking his dick or giving him mine. Clearly he has enough experience to know how to find a prostate.

Jaime goes on with his flirting advice, but I'm busy eyeing Mike. His hair today is tucked under a gray beanie. He has on a plain black t-shirt and a pair of skinny jeans. His shirt, unfortunately, is long enough to cover his crotch, so I can't guess how big his cock is. Well, no matter. I'll have time for that later.

When I look back up to his face, he's looking at me. Alarmed, I avert my eyes.

"What would you like?" I say to the woman across the counter in an attempt to look busy. While I prepare her order, I can still feel Mike's gaze on me from across the room. It's an hour later, once I've recovered, that he comes to the counter.

"Hey," his smooth voice yawns. "Tony, was it?"

I swallow my nerves. "Yeah. And you're Mike?"

He nods while Jaime pinches my ass in excitement. "Tony," he says loudly. "I'm going to go do some stuff."

"Uh, okay, Himes."

Mike waves goodbye to him as he hops over the counter and disappears into the crowd. Then he turns to me.

"Fix me up with some whiskey?"

"Sure." I pull the ever-popular Jack Daniel's from the counter and grab a glass. "You want to set up that tab now?"

He smiles. "Next time."

"What, not sure if we're good enough for you yet?"

"Nah," he laughs. "I have an interview with Austin tomorrow. If I don't get the job, I probably won't stick around."

"Oh," I say. "That's a shame."

"You say that as if you doubt me, Tony," he smirks. "You don't think I’m good enough?"

I chuckle timidly. I'm not good at pulling witty responses out of my ass. "Well," I finally say. "I don't know you. I guess we'll just have to see." I slide him his drink while he smirks faintly at me. His half-lidded eyes flip a switch in my stomach and I find myself suppressing a grin. After he sips his drink, he reaches a hand up toward my face and takes my braid between two fingers.

"What's this?" he asks.

"Um…," I respond. "Hair?"

"Alright, smartass. What's it for?"

I shrug. "I…uh, it's a Star Wars thing."

He pulls his hand away and his rough skin brushes my face. I have the slightest urge to grab his hand and put it back up to my cheek. Of course, that would be fucking dumb, so I don't do that.

"I like it," says Mike. My stomach flips over as he gulps the rest of his whiskey. "See you around, Tony."

"H-hey, wait!" I call. He turns. "Mike, you, uh…kind of have to pay for your drink."

He grins and reaches a hand into his pocket. "Damn. Thought I could get you flustered enough to forget."

I accept the ten and five and then he's really gone. I furrow my eyebrows. I wasn't flustered. Just nervous. Who wouldn't be? The dude's a fucking stud.

After a wave of customers, it seems that the population is dwindling. A bunch of the metalheads must have left after one too many ballads. I hope this won't affect business. I really like this job.

It's when I'm dozing off at the counter that I see Jaime again. I can tell he's taken something because his eyes are unfocused and he's grinning widely.

"Oh, Tone," he says. "It's a good night, baby."

"Yeah?" I offer.

He giggles. "Ask me what I'm on."

"What are you on?"

"I don't know!" He cracks up. "Oh, god. So I was with Phil and we were smoking weed. Just normal shit, right? And then Vic came down 'cause his set was over. And he gave us these pills. So we each had one, and then Vic went on the pole. It was hilarious." He giggles again and then leans into me. I steady him.

"Whoa, can you stand? You okay?"

"Let me pretend you're Hayley for a minute." He smiles and hugs me around the waist. He tries to kiss me but I laugh and push him away.

"Sorry, Himes. Not today."

He slides a hand up to my chest and then frowns. "Hey, where did your tits go?"

"Damn. Once my shift is over, I'm taking you straight home."

"Aw." He pouts. I help him sit on the floor and give him some water. Most of it spills down his chin and it's clear that he's a bit too high for this at the moment.

He drabbles through the hum in the background. I haven't served a customer in over an hour, and the few people that remain are either smoking, having sex, or passed out. Mike must be gone by now. I know that he's friends with Vic, so maybe he stayed for the show, but he wouldn't really have a reason to hang around once that finished. He definitely implied that this place bores him.

No matter. If he gets the job, I'll be seeing a lot more of him.

The thought to tell Jaime about what happened crosses my mind, but I know it'll be a futile attempt what with the effects of the pills. He's still calling me Hayley even though I look nothing like her. So instead, I let his ramblings keep me from falling asleep before it's time to close up shop and drive him home. 


	5. Chapter 5

Valerie does not take kindly to bitches using her tab without her consent. They're kicked out on the fourteenth. It was hilarious, really. Six of them: rounded up and escorted out the door. One cried, one swore profusely, and one tried to run back inside. The others just walked along with shocked looks on their faces. Jeremy was ready at the door to tag them and make sure they don't fuck it up for the rest of us. He's got intimidation down to a science, so I'm not worried about them.

Four days later, on Thursday, Jaime brings a date. She's a busty brunette with full, red lips and clear brown eyes; the one he told me about who bought The Vibe's demo. He introduces her as Zoe. She seems nice enough. The only downside is that he spends the night with her, and I'm left bored at the bar. Not that it matters. It's not his job to hang out with me all the time.

As for Mike, I haven't seen him since the day of his interview, and even then, I only caught glimpses. He came in at a quarter to eleven and streamlined straight to Austin's office. He was in there for about an hour, then left with a pleased look on his face. I saw him talking briefly to Vic, but then he left for good. I was a little disappointed that he didn't buy a drink. I thought we were becoming friends.

I expected to see him again the next day, but he was absent. When Austin stopped by for beers, I asked him.

"That new guy, Mike," I said. "Did he get the job?"

Austin grinned. "Mike, yeah, great guy. He starts on the twenty-eighth."

"Why so late?"

"He's on vacation. I let him take the time off because he's getting some supplies. To feed this crowd, he's going to need an arsenal." Austin laughed at his own joke, then slipped back to his office.

Today is the twenty-eighth. I try not to look too eager to see Mike, but I'll admit that I'm in a good mood. I don't expect to take him home tonight, of course. It's just nice to look at him.

For a Sunday, it's pretty busy. There seems to be a rum craze tonight, and I've had to crack out the ice shaver a few times. It's the end of September; people must be trying to get one last taste of summer before it's gone. It's okay, because those with margaritas and piña coladas give me better tips for my extra effort.

Jaime, currently, is on the dance floor with Zoe. I'd like to call them official. Jaime, for one, is whipped. Any time I admire a girl's ass, he just gets quiet and mumbles something about his girl-friend-thing-whatever-she-is. It's almost adorable, but is closer to disgusting. I'm happy for him anyway. He needs someone to distract him from all the gossip.

Speaking of gossip, I witnessed something interesting yesterday. I had to take a leak, and I saw a very drunk Kellin practically thrusting into Vic. Vic seemed to be enjoying it, too. But when he saw me, he pushed Kellin off and walked into a stall. I'm not great friends with either of them; in fact, I often wonder if they dislike me. But I don't want Vic to be playing Kellin. The poor fucker just might kill himself if Vic breaks his heart.

"Tony, mate, I need six shots of tequila, stat," says Oli, interrupting my contemplation. I nod and conjure up six shot glasses, a tequila bottle, and a small serving tray. Oli's lucky, really; he gets fantastic tips and great cardiovascular benefits from walking up and down the stairs all day. Of course, he's sometimes treated like a monkey slave, but he probably makes enough money to support a family. In bachelor terms, he's loaded.

Oli carries the drinks past Zack and up the stairs, but I can't watch him go all the way up. The lights are fucking _bright_. It's 12:30 and the only music that's playing is over the stereo. Still, strobe lights are going off near the stage, and even on the opposite end of the hall by the VIP balcony, multicolored bulbs flash at rapid speeds. It's giving me a damn headache. I've had to take a few aspirin by the time Jaime stops by.

"Tony," he whispers urgently. "I've got to talk to you."

I rub my temples. "Okay. What is it, bro?"

He hops over the counter and grabs a beer. I mark it on the tab sheet.

"I think I'm dying."

"What?!"

"Yeah! I haven't had sex in too long, and I'm starting to develop this constant boner!"

"Jaime! What the hell?" I punch his arm.

"What?" he asks innocently.

"I thought you were serious. Don't scare me like that!"

"Well, it feels like I'm dying," he defends.

"You're a fucking drama queen. How long has it been?"

"Nineteen days, but who's counting?" He takes a long swig.

"Why don't you fuck Zoe?"

He pales. "Um…I've got to tell you something else, too."

Oh, god. She's a serial killer. Hit man. Tax collector.

"Promise not to freak out," he pleads.

"Okay."

"Well, see…last night we were watching a movie at my place. I totally thought it was our moment, you know? So we were making out, and I didn't even get her shirt off before she told me to stop."

"Okay. So?"

" _So_ , I was like 'why?' and she said 'we can't have sex yet.'" He stops and looks at me expectantly. I sigh.

"Alright, Himes. Why wouldn't she let you fuck her?"

"Tony, she's…." He lowers his voice to a whisper. "She's seventeen."

"Seventeen?!" I roar.

"Shut up! Damn! Do you want the whole fucking room to hear you?"

"Well, fuck, Jaime! You expect me _not_ to yell? That is some surprising information. You could've warned me."

"I did, asshole. I told you not to freak out."

"Yeah, but I thought you were going to say something stupid. Like that she's celibate."

He frowns. "Thanks for taking me seriously. And anyway, celibacy is no laughing matter. It is a sad state of being for sad, sad people. We should encourage them to leave celibacy and embrace their sexual side. Not make fun of them."

I grab his wrist. "Jaime, listen. _This_ is no laughing matter. Zoe is eight years younger than you. You could go to prison. Hell, _I_ could go to prison for serving drinks to her."

He rips his hand away. "You could go to prison just for working here, douchebag. And I haven't fucked her, which means I haven't done anything illegal."

"Dude, this isn't even about the legality. There are ethical issues here, too. She's a goddamn teenager. She's still a kid."

"She's not a kid. You've met her; you know how mature she is. She's basically twenty-five."

"Or you're still seventeen."

He laughs. "I've _been_ seventeen. I'm an adult now."

"No, when you were seventeen, you were twelve. You're seventeen now."

"Shut up, alright? Let's talk about the problem here."

I fold my arms. "What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know," he sighs. "I really like her."

"She's still seventeen," I point out.

"Yeah, well, her birthday's next week. She'll be legal then."

"Not legal enough to drink."

"Shut up, Tony. We drank when we were fifteen."

"Whatever. Just be careful, alright? Does she know you work at a grocery store and not a real job?"

"Hey, I take Safeway seriously. And yes, she does."

"Good. She's not in it for the money, then."

"Shit, dude. Here she comes. What do I do about the sex thing?"

"Jack off, dumbass."

"But I'm saving myself."

I chuckle. "Oh my god, that's so pathetic. You're adorable, Himes." I ruffle his hair. "You know, if you save yourself too long, you'll come in five minutes _—_ hey, Zoe!"

To hide my red face, I make myself busy by pulling out a couple of bottles.

"Hi, Tony," she smiles. "Can you get me something to drink?"

"I, er…yeah." I don't want to serve a minor, but I can't let her know that Jaime told me she's a child. I don't want to get him in trouble with _her_. "What would you like?"

"Surprise me," she shrugs.

I mix her a tonic of my own creation while she and Jaime beam at each other and say sweet nothings.

"Hey, Jaime," I interject when it starts to get too disgusting. "Is Mike here?"

I haven't forgotten him, even through Jaime's news. I have needs too. Once you see someone that sexy, you want to look at them all that you can. I'm starting to get withdrawals.

Zoe grins. "I saw your little crush, Tony."

"Oh, god," I groan. "You told her? How many people fucking know?"

Jaime assures me, "Just her and Jack. But that's not counting all the people who know just because you eye-fuck him every time he's around."

"I don't do that," I pout, even though I totally do.

As I hand Zoe her drink, she says, "He's been hanging around the bathrooms. Working."

I steal a glance, but I don't see him. Not that it matters. He _works_ here now. I'll see him plenty soon.

"You guys go have fun, okay?" I tell them. Jaime smirks.

"You want to be alone for when he comes to see you?"

"No, god. He's working. He won't get drinks."

"Whatever you say, buddy. We'll be around."

"See you, Himes. Zoe."

And they leave, fingers entwined. I'm surprised Jaime's not even a little put-off by the fact that she's still a teenager. _I_ would be, but maybe that's what he needs. He doesn't act like an adult sometimes. Perhaps he wants to grow up again. He sure as hell didn't have fun the last time.

When Jaime was nineteen, his mom kicked him out of the house. She caught him smoking pot, screamed something about God, and sent him packing. That was hard for him because he wasn't ready to grow up. He didn't have a job, a car, or money. Luckily, I was a week away from moving out, so he stayed with me and my mom for a little, and then he boarded with me at my brand new apartment. I kind of had to force him to look for a job, because 24/7 Jaime is a lot to handle. Eventually, he moved out so that we didn't have to listen to each other have sex every now and then—we're like brothers. It was just not fun.

Jaime still has a little bit of growing up to do; I always have to help him with his taxes and shit. But he's getting there. Maybe Zoe will help him finish the job.

Three AM comes pretty quickly, and I'm relieved it's the last day of my work week. The days seem to drag on lately; at least I'll have a few days of mindless TV before coming back here and standing around.

I check the day's totals, lock up the bar, and go back to the offices. Alan's missing, so I knock on Austin's door.

"One second," he calls. I hear a few faint thumping sounds, and then my shirtless boss cracks the door open. "Oh. Just you. I should really get a 'Do Not Disturb' sign. What do you want, Perry?"

I try hard not to peek into the room, instead informing him that I'm just clocking out.

"Oh, cool. Could you write a note on Alan's desk for me? Tell him to talk to Jeremy about Jeffrey Czum."

"Yes, sir."

"Thanks, babe," he winks. I chuckle.

"See you next week."

Without another word, he shuts the door and the thumping resumes. I _do_ catch a fleeting glimpse of him shedding his pants, though. It's not a bad sight. I have a good-looking boss. I wonder who he's fucking.

After Jaime left, I got bored and drank a couple of beers, so now I really have to piss. Once in the bathroom, I race over to the urinal and unzip my pants, letting out a huge sigh of relief.

"Are you ejaculating?" says a voice from behind me. I turn.

It's Mike.

He peeks over my shoulder. "Nope. That's piss. Shame, I thought I could get a snack."

I sputter out a laugh. "That's disgusting."

"What, you don't swallow?"

"I do, but I don't lick come out of a urinal."

He shrugs. "Fair. It's not for everyone."

I try to suppress my smile, but fail. I finish up, zip my pants, and wash my hands. I can see him watching me in the mirror. When I turn around, his eyes don't leave me.

"You need something?" I ask. He grins deviously.

"Can't answer that question."

I feel my face grow hot, but try to play it off. "Oh? Why's that?"

He takes a slow step toward me. "Well," he hums. "I'm trying to stay professional. It's my first day of work."

"Well, there's nothing more professional than swallowing urinal come."

He chuckles. "Touché."

I'm frozen in place by the sink, and Mike takes another step forward. Then another. Then another. And now he's a mere foot away. I find myself looking hungrily at his mouth, and that lip ring, and the remnants of saliva on his lower lip from when he licked his lips. But I pry my eyes away and meet his gaze and do something extremely fucking stupid.

"Hey," I say a little too loudly. "Could…could I get an eight ball?"

Aw, fuck, Tony. What the hell was that?

He blinks. "Uh…yeah. I didn't peg you for the coke type."

"I'm not. I…." Hm. Should I take it back? Well, then I'll look like an ass. And a couple hundred dollars won't set me back that far.

I say, "Himes and I will be celebrating soon."

"Oh, cool. Celebrating what?"

"His birthday," I improvise. "It's tradition."

"Right on," he nods. "Er, so one eight ball?"

"Yeah."

"I'll be right back." He disappears and returns a few minutes later with a plastic bag. "That's two-fifty. Do you have it on you?"

I laugh nervously. "Uh, no. But I can bring it on Thursday."

"Okay. Two-hundred-fifty on Thursday. Do we have a deal?"

"Yeah. Deal."

We shake hands and I note how rough his skin is. I want to ask about that, but I don't, and instead pocket the bags.

"Thanks, Mike."

He salutes. "No problem. I'd better see you next week."

"I work here," I point out. "You will."

"Alright," he laughs. "Later, Tony." And then I find myself standing alone in the club bathroom at 3:17 AM with more cocaine in my pocket than I can handle.


	6. Chapter 6

I'm fucked. I'm utterly fucked. I'm fucked so bad that I consider fleeing to Costa Rica and changing my name to Esteban. And maybe I would if I had any damn money.

The eight ball is no longer in my possession. I gave it to Jaime, who's done most of it with Zoe by now. And anyway, I couldn't just give it back. God, I never should've gotten it. I don't even _do_ coke. And now I'm paying the fucking price.

My week was going well until Tuesday. I noticed I was out of bread, so I walked to the grocery store to get some. I ended up with a few other things; about fifteen dollars' worth. But when I tried to scan my card, it was denied. That seemed strange, so I called my bank. Then they told me something terrible.

I have five dollars and thirty-seven cents in my account.

I know I didn't spend it all, because I had at least three thousand accumulating with my last pay check. All I spend is on groceries, rent, and the occasional drink. A few TV and maintenance bills, but nothing besides. Somebody stole my damn money.

Were I working a normal job, I could call my insurance company. But they would want to do an investigation on me, and I can't risk that. I work for an illegal business.

I'm so fucked.

I call Jaime first.

"Hello?" he answers sleepily.

"Jaime, something really bad happened," I tell him.

"What is it?"

"Somebody stole all the money in my bank account."

He yawns. "That's a thing? I didn't know that actually happened."

"Jaime!" I hiss.

He feigns innocence. "What?"

"Dude, I really need your help."

"Well, fuck, bro," he sighs. "I don't know what you want me to do."

"I need a loan. You know I'll pay you back."

"A loan for what?"

"Everything, dumbass. Rent, bills, feeding myself, and I have a small debt to someone."

"Dude, I'm sorry. I'll see what I can do, but I make minimum wage. Don't expect much. I'd say don't expect anything."

I sigh. "Thanks, Himes."

"Don't thank me until I follow through. I'll let you know tomorrow how much I can handle."

"Okay. I'd better go, but I'll talk to you soon."

"Alright. Bye."

I call Jack next, then Alex, then Justin and a few other people. Nobody can help much, though. I manage to scrape up enough for rent, power, water, and gas. But nothing else.

God, what will I do without Netflix? That's the only thing that occupies my time while I'm not working. What the hell else _is_ there to do? Daytime television? Exercising? It all makes me want to vomit.

And then, of course, there's the cocaine predicament. I promised to pay him back on Thursday. Two-hundred-fifty dollars? I can't conjure up that kind of cash in two days. I barely have enough to keep my apartment even with the loans I just begged for. God, this doesn't reflect well on me. Mike won't want to fuck me when I owe him so much. Worse, I don't think I could take him in a fight. Those muscles….

If this was the first time I'd fucked up, I could call my mom. Normally, she'd have my back, but we haven't spoken in a year. There was an incident with a guy who used to come to the club. We had some attachment. Let's just say my mom puts God before her own son, especially when he wants to have sex with another being with a penis. She may never recover.

I don't know what to do, so I crack open the liquor cabinet. I've downed my weight in whiskey when I pass out on the kitchen floor.

* * *

 

It's Friday now and I have the whining Kellin Quinn as a soundtrack to my nerves. Yesterday went better than I expected, but today will make me forget all about that. All I did was call on my buried acting skills to say that I completely forgot about bringing the money. I told Mike I'd have it today, and, may it be a little begrudgingly, he accepted my excuse. There was no flirting or teasing, so I know he meant business.

That left me with twenty-four hour relief, but that's gone and now I'm standing at the bar on the most nerve-wracking day of my life. Luckily, Jaime's here (and Zoe isn't).

"You look fucking awful, Tone," he notes. I say nothing; just shoot him a petulant look. "Well, sorry! You do! You're not sick, are you? What's going on?"

"I'm not sick," I say flatly, worried that if I speak too much my voice will shake.

"Okay, you're not sick. So what is it?"

"Nothing. You'll find out soon enough."

He groans. "Come on. Tell me."

"I said you'll find out soon enough!" I snap, earning a few looks of surprise from the approaching customers.

"How soon?"

"Today. As long as you stick around, anyway, because I'll probably never want to talk about it." I turn to the customers, a man and a woman, while Jaime's face contorts. "What can I get for you?"

"Got any bourbon?" the man asks.

"Sure."

While I turn to pull it from the shelf, Jaime leans in to my ear.

"Does it have anything to do with Austin?"

My eyes widen. "No!" But then my stomach sinks when I realize that it could—soon. Mike's a damn employee, after all. If Austin finds out about this, I'm fucked. Literally or otherwise.

"Come on, then. Give me a hint."

"You'll…you'll find out later, I said. Now shut up. Talk about Zoe or something."

"You sure?"

"Yes, I'm fucking sure."

"Well, okay." He strokes his imaginary beard. "Hmm…what should I tell you…?"

By the time I put the drinks in the customers' hands, he's already jabbering. I know he didn't want to drop the matter so quickly, but he knows me well enough to respect my requests. That's why I love the fucker.

"Ooh, and Tone," he gushes. "Aren't you wondering why she isn't here tonight?"

"Yeah," I say sincerely. Because they should be sucking faces on the couches.

He smiles. "She's at her birthday party. Today's the day."

"No shit?"

"No shit. And tomorrow night's the night."

I punch his shoulder in the closest thing to a straight-guy gesture I know. "Nice, bro," I say. "What's the plan?"

"Oh, dude. It's going to be magical. She'll stay at my place for the night, of course. I set up this super cheesy playlist…." And he's babbling. I'm listening, but with only one ear. There's a dull throb of dread in the pit of my stomach that won't allow me to give my undivided attention to Jaime.

He notices, but he doesn't point it out. He's not an idiot; he knows that other peoples' problems are tangible too. Hell, he's an expert at that. He craves gossip not because he's shallow, but because he's fascinated with emotion and his power over it. He wants to know what makes people tick; he wants to find patterns and make connections. He himself probably hasn't acknowledged that since he spends most of his time speaking without thinking, but I get him. I get him the way he gets other people.

He finishes off his speech with a simile about Zoe's ass, and then downs the rest of his beer. I grab one for myself; I was trying to put off drinking for as long as I could tonight, but I knew I'd crack. I should be limiting it what with my financial situation. Still, I don't want to explode from the nerves. And anyway, shouldn't I take advantage of the fact that I can drink on the job? Austin says to 'drink, but not drunk.' I guess he thinks himself clever.

With a few long chugs, the beer has disappeared into my stomach. I discard the empty bottle and let out a loud belch. A girl walking up to the counter crinkles her nose at me and I smile apologetically.

Jaime says, "Damn, Tone Bone. Don't hurt yourself." I just roll my eyes at him.

I haven't eaten dinner, so my stomach doesn't feel particularly great with this sudden onslaught of alcohol. I can handle it, though. Really, what's making my stomach sick is the damn fact that I didn't bring the money I was supposed to.

"Himes, fucking talk about something," I plead when I start to get too anxious again.

"Are you sure you're okay, TP?"

"I'm good. Just distract me."

He grins. "Okay, but only hand stuff."

I laugh, authentically, and serve a couple of customers. Once they're gone, I turn back to Jaime. "Seriously, man. Like…tell me a story or some shit."

He furrows his eyebrows. "You mean like a bedtime story?"

"No, dickhead. Something that's happened to you. Or whatever."

"Hmm." He pauses. "I don't know. Haven't you heard everything?"

I frown, thinking. He has a point; I'm always up to date on the Hime Time Channel. The only time….

_Oh_.

A smirk splays out on my lips. "Oh, man, Jaime."

"Shit. What is it?"

"It's time."

"F-for what?"

"Time for you to tell my about your gay experience."

He groans. "Whyyyy?" I, in turn, put on my best unsympathetic face.

"You owe me."

"I don't owe you shit," he claims.

"Nah, you can't pull that. You and I both know you're indebted to me."

"Tony," he pleads. "I'll…I'll do whatever you want. Just don't make me talk about that."

"Was it really that bad?"

"Well, no…it was kind of fun."

"Then what's the fucking problem?" I fold my arms and stare him down.

Jaime sighs. "I'll have to reveal some things I don't want to."

"About who?"

"Well, myself, for starters."

I laugh. "That's bullshit. You can handle being laughed at like a motherfucker."

"No, it…the story doesn't portray me in a good light."

"You're afraid of me judging you?"

"Not afraid," he corrects me. "More like I don't want to set a bad example."

"Dude, I'm not a kid. That's you."

"It doesn't matter. I'm not talking about this." In defiance, he pulls out another beer and takes a long swig. I'm not fazed by his refusal.

"I'll get you to talk."

He raises an eyebrow. "Oh? How's that?"

In response, I step closer to him and put a hand up to his cheek. "Wouldn't want rumors to spread about you and I, would we? I don't think Zoe would like that."

"Tony, no, that's not fair," he whines. "Get off of me."

I, of course, don't get off of him, and instead put my mouth up by his ear.

"Preciado, you'll have to give in soon or else I'll have to do something unspeakable like kiss you."

"Fine, fine! Get off."

I split a huge grin at my victory, then back away. I'm lucky this is Jaime I'm dealing with because there's no chance in hell I'd ever work up the nerve to pull something like that on anyone else.

I boast, "I knew I could break you."

"Yeah, yeah. Shut up." He takes another gulp of his beer before propping himself up on the counter. "I'll tell you. But not until later."

"What?!" I object.

"What, you expect me to open up with all these shitheads around?"

"Himes, no one gives a fuck about your sexual life. Nobody's even listening."

"You don't know that."

"Dude, I only wanted to hear this story in the first place because I'm going to die soon. I need a damn distraction."

"You're killing me."

I take a sip of beer and give a tight smile. "That's my job."

"Fine. Okay. I'll tell you now. But I'm not telling you his name until after closing." I groan. "Take it or leave it. That's my final offer."

"I guess I'll take it."

"Good." He sits on the ground and gets comfortable. "What do you want to hear first?"

I shrug in response.

He says, "I'll start from the beginning, then. It was May…2013, I guess. When we first started coming here." I nod. I remember that month well—it was when I first got laid by a guy. I was twenty-four. "It was when you had the flu, so you weren't there," he continues. "I had just met Jack…he bought me a couple of shots of tequila; I think he was trying to get into my pants. It wasn't him, though. He and Alex started making out and he forgot all about me. Since he saw me _with_ Jack, Zack let me up into VIP and I started hanging out with this group of dark kids. Like, not black…they were white, but punk, you know?" I furrow my eyebrows at him. Everyone here is 'punk,' at least to some degree.

" _Really_ punk," he reaffirms. "Or goth. Like, vampire-looking. Anyway, they gave me something, and I was tripping balls. Their leader, Romulus or some shit, started making out with me, and he climbed on top of me and fucking bit my neck. It was messed up…. But it wasn't him, either. I guess he was just trying to turn me into a vampire. So I started getting really fucked, in the drunk sense, and I passed out. The next thing I know, I wake up in this nasty one-room apartment with six of those goth douchebags."

"Is that it?"

He sighs. "Oh, no. Sadly, that's just the beginning." He pauses to down a shitload of beer.

"So what happened next?" I prompt. He loves when people say that while he's talking.

"Next, they fed me breakfast. Er, it's pretty boring for awhile; I was just trying to get them to tell me what the hell happened. I hung out there until nighttime, and then they all started biting each others' necks. Romulus was all, 'Jaime, join us.' And I was all, 'No thanks.' But then this really hot chick came over to me and fucking kissed the living shit out of me, so I was like, 'I'll bite her.' And I fucking joined the weird-ass biting orgy." He catches my bewildered expression and says solemnly, I know, bro."

"This is important to the story of how you got ass-fucked?"

"It is. I swear."

"Well, don't stop now."

"Wouldn't dream of it." He swallows some more of his drink. "So next, all the dudes paired up and so did the girls. Romulus noticed I was alone, and he gave me his partner. At first I was like, 'I'm not gay.' But then I thought, 'Tony likes it up the ass. Maybe I will too.' And they said that since I'm new, I had to bottom. I said whatever, as long as he uses a condom. And…dude, this next part's fucked up. You sure you want to hear it?"

I look at him incredulously. "This is better than Breaking Bad. Keep going, fucker."

He sighs and rubs his temples. "Fine. So…the guy blindfolded me and threw me down on my stomach. I could hear the other two couples getting it on—one set of dudes and one set of ladies. I guess Romulus was just watching like a perv. So Ju—er, this guy starts kissing my neck like a madman, right? It fucking hurt, I was probably bleeding all over the place. But it was hot, too. He kept going until I was hard, and then all of a sudden I had these fingers in my ass coated with warm-ass lube.

"He prepped me surprisingly gently; it didn't even hurt when he put his cock in me. So then, of course, he rode me until I came, and then he came too. But…they kept me blindfolded for like a fucking hour. Romulus was all 'and now for a moment of silence,' so nobody spoke. I wanted to say, 'hey, take this damn blindfold off,' but I was afraid they'd stab me for ruining the peace. Then finally, they let me go and I went home." Jaime bites his lip and looks up at me. I don't know what to think—I'm not sure what I expected, but it wasn't this. He must've still been high when he agreed to that shit, because it sounded like a damn cult ritual.

I let out a long breath through my nose. "So that's the story, huh, Himes?"

"Oh, no." He takes a sip. "There's more."

_More?!_ Fuck. My eyes widen.

"Well, you see," he says. "The day after that, I got a text. It was from the dude I hooked up with. Not sure how he got my number, but he said it was urgent that I call him. So…I did. He sounded all frantic and shit, saying I had to stay away from Romulus. When I asked why…oh, god. I can't say it."

"What?"

"I can't."

I narrow my eyes. "Jaime, don't leave me hanging."

"No, Tone. It's bad. You don't want to hear it."

"Bro, I'm not fucking twelve. I can handle it."

He sighs. "Don't say I didn't warn you." After a long pause, and a heated stare down, he speaks again. "It…what we did, with the biting and sex, apparently it was part of a ritual. The dude said we fucking released three demons into Romulus's body. Like, demons from hell." He looks at me with these big, scared eyes. And what do I do?

I laugh.

The alcohol, may it be minimal, must've worked its way into my system because something about that is fucking hilarious. I'm doubled over, gripping the counter for leverage, and cackling like a damn madman.

"Don't laugh at me!" Jaime protests.

"Himes," I manage between laughs. "Do…do you… _actually_ …believe that?"

"Not anymore, asshole! I only did at first. It's not funny. I was scared shitless. I went to church with Tía María for a month!"

"Bro, it's _hilarious_. You probably thought you brought on Armageddon."

"Yeah, actually. And it's not easy coping with starting the apocalypse, so shut your thirsty-ass lips."

I compose myself, then straighten. "Oh, god. So what happened next?"

"Nothing. That's the end of the story."

I frown. "Really? What happened to Romulus?"

"Ah, right. Him. I told Alan he and his buddies were Satanists and he kicked them out. All but two."

"Which two?"

"The girl who kissed me and the dude who fucked me. They got to stay because they didn't know it was a Satan worshiping cult."

"Oh. Do they still hang around here?"

He grins. "Yeah. The girl is obvious. She went by Essence back then, but now it's Amy. You know the one with the gray eyes?"

I nod. She gets drinks sometimes; she's stunning. I'm not surprised she'd hang out with a pack of vampires considering I've never seen a spot of color on her.

"What about the guy?" I ask.

"Oh, I'm not dropping his name in his conversation. He doesn't want anyone to find out he accidentally joined a cult."

"But Jaime," I groan. "The suspense is killing me."

"Sorry, homeslice. When the night's over I'll text you his name."

"Text it to me now."

"No. We agreed earlier that I'd tell you the story now and the name later."

"Fine," I mutter. "Freakin' vampire."

He shoots me a look, then checks his phone. After I serve a couple more customers, he speaks.

"Hey, Tone Bone. I'm going to go snooping, is that cool?"

"Hang on a second. I've got to piss. Can you watch the bar for five minutes?"

"Sure."

I know he loves his precious mingling time, so I do my best to hurry to the bathroom. The beer has completed a lap in my system, and considering I drank a whole bottle at once, I'm not surprised my bladder's this full. But before I get there, a hand grabs my wrist and I'm pulled underneath the stairs. I'm met with a pair of smoldering brown eyes and pierced, sneering lips.

"I take it you have my money, Perry," Mike hisses. I gulp, but before I can say anything, he continues. "That was some good-ass coke, as you know. I could've invested it in something else. If I've made a mistake, we may have a problem."

He looks at me expectantly. I sigh in an attempt to steady my voice. "Look, Mike. There was—"

"Do you have it or not?"

"Well, no, but—"

He throws me back and paces, seething. "I fucking knew it. I knew it when you—! God. I didn't want to believe you were one of them, but I was wrong, and I let you steal from me. Well, guess what? Fool me once, shame on _you_." He shoves me backwards so that I hit the wall.

"Mike, if you'd—"

"I don't want to hear it, you whore addict. You have a damn job. A fucking good one, too. Austin told me how much you make. A shame you spend it all on fucking _drugs_ ," he roars. He raises a fist, and I swear he's going to hit me. But he relaxes and settles on staring me down. It's almost worse.

"Please," I say. "I don't even do coke, would you listen?"

He snorts. "You really think lying will help you? I've seen it all, kiddo. And trust me: that's the oldest one in the book."

Desperately, I rack my brain for something to say that will make him listen, even for a moment, so that I can explain myself. I come up empty-handed, though. I can't even find my voice.

He gets in close. "You have one month. One month to pay me off, or I'll get Austin involved."

I pale, but I have no time to protest before he turns on his heel and disappears into the crowd.

I'm so fucking screwed.

* * *

 

After taking a much-needed piss, I return to Jaime.

"What took you so long?" he complains. "And why do you look scared shitless?"

Slowly, and taking breaks between to drink beer, I tell him the story from the beginning. I hadn't yet told him that I bought a couple hundred dollars worth of coke from Mike, so he's shocked.

"You bought an entire fucking eight ball because you chickened out of kissing him?" he asks incredulously. I argue that we weren't going to kiss, but as always, he's right.

He knows about my money being stolen, so I skip that part. Finally, he's up to date on me and my drama.

And he's fucking pissed.

"That asshole!" he roars. "What kind of arrogant douchebag doesn't let someone explain when they clearly have their shit together and only do drugs every once in a goddamn while?! I take _one damn look_ at you and I know you're a goodie two-shoes! Sure, you're a bartender, so you're bound to drink every now and then, but you're not a fucking cokehead! You make fucking twenty bucks an hour serving them. God, when I find that motherfucker, I'll rip his fucking head off! I'll—"

"Jaime," I interject. "He has a right to be pissed. I said I'd pay him back and I didn't. It's as simple as that."

"No, he'd have a right if you did all the coke knowing you had no money." He calls out, "Fucking asshole should've let you explain!"

"Dude, shut up. I'm working. You want to get me in trouble?"

"Whatever. I'll be back. Got to talk to some people." He spits the last part, and I notice his fist clenching.

"Don't do anything stupid, Himes," I plead.

"Don't worry your pretty little head over it, Tone Bone," he says in response, obviously not taking my warning to heart. I don't have time to underpin it because he ruffles my hair and slips under the barrier without another word.

I love Jaime, but I really wish he'd let me handle my own damn problems.

* * *

 

I see Jaime again at three when I'm closing up the bar. He looks giddy; I can't fathom why. When he left, he was fuming.

In the time since then, I've done my best to keep busy so as to not look up and make eye contact with Mike. What he said has me feeling destitute, and frankly, I feel stupid for wanting to fuck him. It's obvious now that he was just after my money. I guess that's typical of a dealer. I should have fucking known. I should have fucking stayed away.

I'm relieved when Jaime returns, because now he can distract me. I shouldn't be so dejected because of some piece of ass. What am I, a schoolgirl? Luckily, Jaime's a constant whirlwind of speech, so it takes energy to even pay attention.

As I pull the two ends of the metal gate together and slip in the padlock, I ask him whether there's any news.

"You have no idea," he grins. "I'm kind of overwhelmed. I don't know where to start."

"With the lame stuff," I advise.

He scratches his head, flattening his hair for a moment, then it springs back up. "Lame stuff…. Well, Tino was trying really hard to get into Jenna's pants. Didn't work, obviously. Everyone knows she's a prude. So that was fun to watch. Hmm…Tay was pissed at Alex, but I didn't find out why. It looked like he was paying more attention to Jack, which isn't surprising."

"Not at all," I agree. Most people think Alex and Jack are together with how they act. "I'll be right back, okay?" I tell him. "I have to go clock out."

"Cool. But come back here, I really have to tell you something."

I nod before navigating to the offices. To the right of the bar lays a hallway with several doors, the closest being the bathrooms. Next is a small storage closet that holds cleaning supplies. The offices lay between that and the door to backstage at the end of the hall. Alan's has a stylized 'A.A.' on the door, and Austin's, an 'A.C.'

Because Austin is a busy man, Alan usually handles the clocking in and out stuff. It's easy enough to let him know I closed up, so I'm back to Jaime after only a few moments.

"What's up?" I ask.

He grins nervously. "Uh…first, promise me not to be pissed."

"Fuck. What did you do?"

"Relax. I'm not an idiot. You'll thank me later."

"Well, I'm not promising shit."

"Fine, just listen. So…obviously, I talked to Mike. I mean, I know you didn't want me to, but I had duties as your best friend." He ignores the look I give him and continues. "So I was like, 'You fucking asshole!' and all that shit. And he said, 'He only got what he deserves.' And I was like, 'You almost hit him! Tony doesn't deserve to be punched!' And you know what he fucking said?"

"Wh—"

" _He said, 'You're just pissed because I'm hotter than you.'_ "

I furrow my eyebrows. "What? So?"

"God, you're stupid. It means he wants to fuck you."

"How?" I laugh. "Sounds like he was just trying to insult you."

"No, you imbecile. He sees me as competition. For _you_. So he was trying to make me insecure. Hell, if I actually wanted you, it would've worked because he _is_ hotter than me."

I feel a grin stretch onto my face. He wants to fuck me? Even after what I did? I mean, it's Jaime logic, so maybe I shouldn't listen, but I can't help it.

He continues, "Now we have to act on it." I open my mouth to ask how, but he's already explaining. "So we're going to go over there, on the edge of the crowd. Mike's on the balcony, so we have to make sure we're in his view. Then we dance together. All sexy-like."

"Hell no," I say instantly. What the fuck is he thinking?

"Listen, Tone. This will work. He's going to get jealous, and then he's going to get all humble and realize he's not such a hotshot. See, then he'll feel bad for blowing up at you, and maybe even apologize. And since he wants his dick in your ass, he's going to try to snatch you up before I take you."

"Jaime," I sigh. "I don't know."

"Trust me."

"What if he thinks you already have me? I mean, if you're dancing on me and shit…."

"Taken care of," he grins. "I'm going to take a bathroom break, then you dance on Sierra instead, and I'll do my best to look all forlorn."

I pale. "Sierra?"

"Yeah, I already talked to her about it."

"Uh…but how are we going to know Mike is watching?"

"Oh, he'll be watching. I'll make sure of it."

I let out a long breath. I've got to give Jaime props for formulating this plan, but that doesn't mean I like it. Just because Mike wants to fuck me doesn't mean that he won't pursue anyone else. Hell, he's probably flirting on the balcony as we speak.

"I don't think so, Himes."

"I bet you five hundred dollars it'll work."

I scoff. "I can't fucking bet money right now."

"Okay, fine. If my plan doesn't work, I'll give you five hundred. If it does, which it will, you'll get a tattoo of my face."

"What the hell, Jaime?" I laugh. "A tattoo of your face would _cost_ five hundred. And probably extra just because you're so ugly."

"Don't be an asshole," he pouts. "And we'll get Oli to do it. He does tats in the daytime, remember? He'd totally do it for free."

I bite my lip and weigh my options. If I win, that means Mike will maintain what he said and not fuck me. But that means I get enough money to pay him off and a clean conscience. If I lose, well…he'll apologize and who knows what else. But I'll have Jaime's face on my skin for the rest of my life.

"You can choose where the tattoo goes," Jaime throws in.

"You do realize that if you grind on me, I'll probably get a boner, right?" I deadpan.

"Relax, I will too." He looks up. "Come on, we've got to go now. He's right by the glass."

I glance up to see him holding out a plastic tin to Phil. I sigh as Jaime grabs my wrist and pulls me to the pit area. I don't want to agree per se, but I don't protest. His crazy plan could work, after all. And if not, I get five hundred dollars.

Jaime positions us on the outskirts of the crowd, right next to a couple of girls making out. They get catcalls from a few douchebags, but promptly flip them off.

"You better not kiss me," I grumble while Jaime moves behind me.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. I won't go _that_ far."

I feel myself blushing furiously as he begins to move his hips against my ass. How the hell he's keeping his dignity intact, I don't know.

"Maybe this was a bad idea."

"Too late now. He's already looking," Jaime retaliates. I don't know whether or not he's lying, but I'm too scared to check.

Jaime pokes me to remind me to start moving. I guess it would look awkward, me just standing here while Jaime goes at it.

"This would be easier if I was drunk," I mutter while I begin to move my hips. It takes awhile, but eventually, I become a lot more comfortable and actually start to enjoy myself. Jaime and I are both half-hard, but it's not enough to make us stop among the sweaty mass of bodies and Coheed & Cambria on the speakers. But soon, our time is up. The club closes at four, and we're on a schedule.

"I'm going to go to the bathroom," Jaime informs me. Mike's still hovering by the glass on the VIP balcony.

I nod. "Where's Sierra?"

"I'll send her over. I'll be back in a couple of minutes, so get to work, you stud."

I laugh while he winks and turns around. I've managed to only check on Mike a couple of times. The first time, he looked rather pissed off; about what, though, I couldn't say. He could've been angry for a number of reasons, only one of them being me dancing with Jaime, so it would've been naïve for me to assume he was watching (and caring, for that matter). The second time, he seemed indifferent and was casually conversing with Lee Malia. Luckily, neither of those times did we make eye contact. I had to look like I didn't know he was there. Like I was content. Like I couldn't care less.

A hand brushes my arm, severing my contemplation. Sierra's sexy green eyes greet me. She looks a little nervous.

"Hey," she grins.

I nod. "We haven't spoken in awhile. How are you?" I ask.

"Excellent. Er…that sounded kind of sarcastic. I'm great." She chuckles. "We don't have much time, shall we get started?"

For the second time, I nod, pulling her in front of me and beginning to move my hips against her.

I say, "Sorry Jaime made you do this. I didn't ask him to."

"It's okay," she laughs. "I'm over what happened. I guess he is too, huh? Are he and Zoe official?"

"No. Well, maybe. Not really sure." I shrug. She nods and continues dancing. Grinding on this fuckable woman feels a lot more natural than with my best friend, so more blood gets sent to my cock in the process. She's no Mike, but Sierra is a damn babe. You'd be crazy not to be turned on by her eyes.

After a few minutes, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I'm assuming it's a text from Jaime considering I don't know who the hell else would text me at three-thirty AM.

"One second," I murmur to Sierra.

"I felt that vibrate," she laughs as I pull my phone out and open the message.

It says, _Operation successful. Dude, I came out of the bathroom and Mike gave me this totally smug look and then glanced at you guys. That fucking idiot, hahahaha :P Looks like you'll be getting some new ink, Tone Bone! I'm leaving, I'll catch you tomorrow_.

I glance up just in time to see him walking out the steel front door. Then my phone vibrates again.

_P.S. you're a terrible dancer :)_

I grin at his news, then slide my phone back into my pocket.

"It worked," I tell Sierra. "So far, at least. I'll have to see what happens next."

"Cool! Nice working with you," she smiles shyly. "Glad I could make you hard for the third time. Really, I'm good at that, aren't I?"

I laugh and play off my blush. "You're talented, Kusterbeck. Good work. Hey, I'm going to head home, okay?"

"Could you give me a ride?" she asks. "I got ditched."

"Sure. That sucks. Sorry."

She sighs contentedly. "No big deal. Let's go." She grabs my hand and pulls me to the door. I drive her home, on the other side of San Diego. I begin to wonder why she lives this far, but then I remember that not everyone goes to the club every night like I do. Sierra probably has a job over here. Before she hops out of the car, she kisses me on the cheek and squeezes my thigh. I watch her unlock the door, then drive away. All I want to do is go home, jack off, and then sleep. I'm turning onto my street when my phone vibrates again.

_I almost forgot to tell you. The dude who fucked me? It was Justin_.

I nearly crash my car.

Justin fucking Hills?! He was in a Satanist cult?!

Don't text will driving, kids.


	7. Chapter 7

Saturday is my least favorite day to work for a couple of reasons. For one thing, it's always busy as fuck, so I end up with no spare time to think and I always get exhausted. Plus, it's almost inevitable that we run out of something and I have to retrieve it from the stockroom.

Besides the customer apocalypse, the music gets old fast. It seems that Alex & Tay play almost every time these days. They're talented, sure, but why the hell do they only have one instrument? And why won't they write more damn songs?

This Saturday sucks especially because Jaime's away with Zoe, and not here doing grunt work for me. After asking Alan a few too many times to watch the bar, he decided to just stay and help.

"We must be making a fortune," he grins, eyes twinkling. "It ought to be like this every night, right, Tony?"

"Sure," I mumble. It's a lie, of course. I don't like slow days, but busy ones are worse. I might make an extra ten bucks in tips, which is nice, but the 'fortune' Alan mentioned goes straight to Austin. He pays us just enough that we can get by without needing another job. That means we remain loyal out of sheer laziness and he gets to take home enough to care for a small village.

If someone were to ask me, I'd say Austin's a good guy, and I'd be honest. He's a bit of a wimp, really; he can be afraid to exercise discipline on people who are mostly obedient. That's probably because he believes in justice. And not in the 'you'll pay for you crimes' sense. It's more like he thinks good people can take care of themselves; it's the assholes who should be taught a lesson.

He's completely wrong, obviously. There are no good or bad people; we start out either meaning well or not, and are further shaped by experience. This means that if a 'good' person gets away with things enough times just because they're 'good,' they'll end up arrogant and greedy. Is it fair? Not necessarily. But we're human. We're selfish. That switch flipped the moment we had a sense of right and wrong; of crime and punishment.

As for Austin, I think he knows this deep down, which is why he can discipline people at all. He just doesn't want it to be true.

And believe me: he's selfish just like the rest of us. I don't think he started off that way, but he's been running this place since he was twenty-two. When you're the boss long enough, you get used to getting what you want.

Like that time....

Last year, in July. I wasn't always the only bartender here. Shay had worked here since the place opened in '06. He was damn good, too...he knew exactly what quantity and in what order to drink so that you wouldn't get a hangover. I've never been able to recreate his technique.

When Shayley was here, there was a lot more partying. May it be rarely, I'd sometimes take a night off and get shitfaced with Jaime. More often, though, I'd have to cover Shay's shifts while he got drunk. He was sort of shy when sober (rather like me), but an animal when intoxicated. He always had dudes crawling all over him, ready to do anything he asked. He knew how to sweet-talk a boy so that he was just frustrated enough to obey. He made people want to please him. He wasn't an evil mastermind or anything. Just too smart for his own good. And very cute.

Anyone with a brain knows how Austin feels about Aaron Pauley, the host. I get the feeling that if Aaron asked him to, Austin would commit mass homicide. It's almost sad. And like I said earlier, Austin always gets what he wants.

It was unbearably hot that night; the air conditioning was broken, and body heat festered in the hall. We kept drink crates backstage at that time because we didn't have a storage room. It was fucking stupid, because all the drinks would get warm. I remember on that night in particular, we didn't make much on beer.

Paired with the music, people were really enjoying cider that night. Probably because it doesn't taste too bad warm. So of course, I ran out. We don't keep much on hand. While Jaime kept an eye on the bar, I hurried down the hall to get another crate. Then I walked in on something I wasn't supposed to see.

I always pegged Aaron as a bottom, but with Shay, I guess him topping made sense. Still, that didn't mean I wasn't shocked to see Aaron pile-driving my friend on the floor where, just a few feet away, behind a curtain, The Vibe was playing their fourth set ever. Not only that, but Aaron's girlfriend was probably at home, waiting for him to get off work. I didn't know what to do, so I bolted before they saw me.

For the rest of the night, I said, 'Sorry. We're out of cider. May I recommend something else?' Jaime, of course, noticed something was wrong, so I told him what I had seen. I guess he couldn't keep his fat mouth shut, because I saw Shay for the last time the next day.

"Tony," said Alan around midnight. "You're going to have to cover Shay's shift tonight."

I accepted, obviously, figuring Shay was going to get a stern lecture from Austin. Relations between employees (excluding entertainers) are strictly forbidden. There's not much of a reason given besides the fact that it could get in the way of the job. Really, I think it's so Austin and Alan can have the first pick if they have a crush on one of us.

I caught a glimpse of Shay being escorted to Austin's office looking scared as hell. Then, three hours later, just as I was closing, he emerged and cut a path straight to me.

"Tony, open the gate. I need a drink."

Normally, I'd have to decline, but seeing as he was the other bartender and clearly miserable (and maybe I had a soft spot for him at the time), I left it open.

"Whiskey," he requested. I nodded, pulled a bottle from the shelf, and handed it to him. He closed a hand around the neck and tried to lift it, but he was shaking like mad. Instead of putting him through even more trauma, I took it from him, removed the lid, and brought it to his lips.

He winced as he swallowed, but appeared to relax when it settled in his stomach. Still, he was pale and his gaze was unfocused.

"Why don't you sit down?" I told him, but he shook his head.

"Oh, no," he said. "No. I won't be able to sit for a week."

"Are you sure?"

His eyes widened and he stumbled. I caught him just in time.

"Dude," I said. "I need to take you home."

"O-okay."

"Wait here." I propped him up against the counter, then rushed to Alan's office.

"Clocking out?" he asked with a grin. Either he didn't know what happened to Shay, or he thought he deserved it. I'd bet on the latter.

"Yeah," I nodded. "Took inventory and everything."

"Good. See you tomorrow."

Once I got Shay into my car, which was a difficult task in itself, I began to drive to his house when he stopped me.

"Tone, can I stay at your place?" he pleaded. I could see how scared he still was, so I complied without giving it much thought.

Once there, I helped him drink some more whiskey to ease the pain. It works faster than Tylenol and is twice the fun. He wanted to sleep in my bed with me, too, because he thought that it would be more comfortable. I couldn't turn him down, obviously. I wouldn't want to sleep on a couch, either, if I had just been through what he had.

I placed the bottle on the floor next to him in case he needed any more. Then, I climbed in beside him. I was just beginning to doze off when he shook me awake.

"Tony," he whispered. "I...I need your help."

"What is it?" I groaned.

He mumbled, "I have to crap."

"You have to what?"

"Take a dump."

My eyes widened. "What do you need me for, then?"

"Well, I don't want to sit down. It'll kill me. I just need you to hold me up."

The car ride _was_ miserable, and I didn't want Shay to have to go through any more shit, so he convinced me with little effort.

"Fine," I grumbled. "But I'm not wiping your ass."

I helped him up, then into the bathroom. When he pulled down his pants, I had to bite back a gasp.

He was bruised all over.

"Shay," I swallowed. "I think we should get you to the hospital."

"Wh-why?"

"Have you seen yourself?"

He looked down at his hips and thighs, then paled. "Oh, that? I'm fine." But his voice shook.

"I'm serious, Shay. This looks bad."

"And what the hell would we tell them, Tony?" he snapped. "That we work for an illegal club where people have sex all over the place? Where people do hard drugs on a daily basis? That my boss fucking abused me and I signed a contract allowing him to? We could be arrested. We could get all our friends arrested. What do you think Austin would do to me then?"

It got quiet for awhile until I said, "We could lie."

"They'll investigate. It doesn't matter what we say; this looks like assault and rape. We can't afford that."

I shut my mouth after that because I knew he was right. It was fucked up, but he was right.

So I held him up while he took a shit. I helped him wash his hands. I guided him back to bed, fed him more whiskey, and let him hold my hand while we tried to sleep. It wasn't enough, but it was all I could do when we were obligated not to go to the hospital and get him real help.

Shayley never came back to work after that.

How can I still think that Austin's a good guy? Because he's stupid. Not mindless or anything, just naïve. We all signed contracts permitting him to punish us in any way he sees fit, and he thinks that makes it ethical. Which is fine. I can't speak for everyone, but I at least knew what I was getting myself into when I started working here. Obey, or face the consequences.

Shay was punished that way because of Austin's emotions. He wanted Aaron, and he didn't want anyone else to have him. Austin always gets what he wants. And when he doesn't, he gets pissed.

So I think he's a good guy. If it had been, say, me, who Shayley slept with, we probably both would've gotten a lecture. Nothing more, nothing less. But it was Aaron. That hurt Austin's damn feelings.

I can't say the same for Alan, though. Alan is not a good guy. I'm not afraid of him or anything, I just know who he is. If he had the chance, he'd make us all work as slaves. Robots, which are beaten when they malfunction. Sometimes I wonder if he's a sociopath. I don't think he's very good at assessing the emotions of others. To him, the only real people are himself and Austin.

"Tony," he says in real time, pouring a shot of tequila beside me. "When Oli comes back, would you remind him to bring down all the empty glasses?"

"Yes, sir," I nod. It's funny that I call him 'sir' even though he's younger than me. I'd get in trouble if I didn't. He's Austin's assistant, best friend, and second-in-command. He probably makes three times as much money as I do.

"Tony, mate," says Oli on my right. "I need two glasses of scotch. Can you fix that up for me?"

I nod. "Yeah. Who's paying?"

"Justin." I note that he crinkles his nose and wonder if Justin tried to seduce him. I'm not sure which way Oli swings, but even if you're flaming, he can come on a little strong. He  _did_ manage to fuck Jaime, though.

I pull two glasses from under the counter and see that we are indeed getting low. As I pour the Blackadder, I request that Oli bring down the empty glasses, to which he nods.

After he's gone, I grab the clipboard and mark another twenty-four dollars by Justin's name, along with a '2sctch.' Scotch isn't really his style, so he must be trying to impress someone.

Oli brings an arsenal of glasses back down just as Alan asks me, 'How much is a shot of vodka, again?"

"Ten bucks," I grin. "You know, you ought to know this. You set the prices."

He laughs and bumps my hip with his own. He may be a sociopath, but he can take a joke as long as he likes you well enough. And just like Austin, he has the tendency to sexually harass his employees. In good humor, of course. Nothing more than flirting.

I'll admit that the night goes by faster with Alan here. He's not Jaime, who can enthrall you with a story for a good hour, but he's company. And he's helping me get drinks out faster. The best days with Shay were the ones when we'd work side-by-side, serving customers and messing around. It made me feel less like Austin's bitch and more like someone working to get by. And now? I'm completely Austin's bitch. I haven't had a day off since June of last year. But at least I'm getting paid.

Around two, we run out of beer again. Alan seems like he's having fun mixing a cocktail, so I volunteer to make the journey. Hands stop me along the way. Most of them want to know where Jaime is. I think people got the wrong impression after we danced yesterday. I tell them he's with his girlfriend.

Finally, I'm out the door, nodding to Rian, who appears to be dozing off, and into the chilled storage room. It's massive; we sell about five hundred drinks on a slow night, and as many as three thousand on a night like tonight. What's hilarious is watching the struggle of transporting the drinks in here. Austin and Alan handle that, and because they have to be discreet, it's a huge production. Along with the club, Austin owns the music shop upstairs. Over a period of twelve hours, Jeremy drops off ninety-six crates of alcohol. Lee, Matt, and Vegan, who manage the store, leave the crates in the stockroom at the top of the stairs. Then, Austin and Alan frantically transport them to the other stockroom. This happens once a month; if you're not too careful, you might come to work too early and be forced to help. I've made that mistake before.

There isn't really a system for organizing the drinks once they're here. Beer is marked 'CDs' and whiskey is marked 'picks,' but the boxes aren't arranged in order. You might have to walk through dozens of 'strings' and 'drumsticks' to find what you're looking for.

Luckily, there's a box of beer right by the door. I heft it up and slip back into the club. I'm halfway to the bar when I'm stopped by a hand on my shoulder.

"Tony," says a sheepish Mike. I tense.

"Uh...hey."

"Look, can we talk?"

I'm rather winded from the heavy box, so I tell him to follow me back to the bar. He trails behind me quietly. Once there, I set the beer down to find Mike fidgeting with a wristband, and Alan studying him calculatingly.

"What's up?" I ask, trying not to let emotion bleed into my voice. There's fear and excitement, neither of which I want him to sense.

"Er, so I...." He trails off, looking warily at Alan. He mulls over his words carefully. "I think we need to talk about what happened," he decides. He glances at Alan again. "But not here."

I nod slowly, unsure of what he means.

"Would you...we should get coffee on Monday," he says. "So we can talk."

"Alright," I reply, a little too quickly.

I detect a faint smile on his lips before he says, "When and whe _—_ you know what? I'll just give you my number. I've got to get back to work."

He grabs my arm and a ballpoint pen from the counter, then scrawls seven digits around the curve of one of my tattoos.

"Text me when you wake up on Monday," he instructs me. Then, without the slightest hint of an expression, he turns around and slips away.

I study the numbers on my hand in awe. Alan says, "I hope you're not thinking of getting involved with him." I look up to see him giving me a warning stare.

"Involved?" I swallow. "No. Uh...we had a misunderstanding last week. It needs to be sorted out."

"What kind of misunderstanding?"

I assure him, "It's not important."

He drops it after that, but I know he'll tell Austin about what happened. I'm sure it's obvious that I'm attracted to Mike. Hopefully, they trust me enough to assume I can maintain a professional relationship.

But do I trust myself to?

I resume serving drinks once Alan takes his gaze off of me. _Mike wants to get coffee_ , I think. Maybe Jaime was right. It's not a date, of course. Just coffee. But it's still something. It might be easier to talk under the security of daylight.

Maybe Saturdays aren't so bad after all.


	8. Chapter 8

Jaime walks in the next day, starry-eyed and smiling. Zoe's at his side, as usual. I notice she has a new tattoo of a skull on her left shoulder. It doesn't look half bad.

The Vibe isn't playing tonight as they usually would. Instead, Hayley's onstage, blasting out vocals to  Jimmy Eat World song. I had no idea she could sing, but she's damn good. She has a good stage presence, too. The audience is eating it up.

When she's done, Aaron gets up onstage.

"Give it up for Hayley Williams," his voice booms, echoing through the hall. The crowd goes wild. I bet at least one person will buy her a drink. "So," Aaron continues. "Most of you are probably wondering why The Vibe isn't up here. Well, they're around here somewhere." He squints through the room, then spots them on the balcony and waves. "There they are. Hey, guys." Again, cheering fills the hall. "But we have an important change coming. Sundays are now open-mic nights. So if you're good at something; singing, drums, guitar, or anything, go check out the sign-up sheet outside Alan's office. You'll have to meet with him next week before you can perform, but anyone can sign up. Pretty rad, right?" A few people in the crowd are elated, and the rest cheer respectfully. "Thought so," Aaron grins. "For now, we have a great set lined up for you fuckers. Lose your fucking heads for Phil Fucking Manansala and his Gibson!"

It's no surprise that people go wild at Phil's name. I don't know a single person who doesn't like him. He's almost like one of those pothead hippies from the sixties who endorse nothing but peace and love. It's impossible to be in a bad mood around Phil.

He gets up onstage with a beautiful, faded, black guitar that I envy and shoots a wave into the crowd. Not one person looks as if they'll be ordering a drink any time soon. They all want to hear what Phil's fingers have to say. The first note is a thick half from the bottom string, and then he dives into a complicated riff. I'm gaping—it sounds fantastic. As a guitar player myself, I know when the right time to be impressed is, and this is one of those times. I'll have to ask him what amp he uses.

The night passes fairly quickly. I'm surprised at how many people are actually good performers. Aaron, for example: he fucking sang. He sang his damn heart out, and he was fantastic. No wonder Austin's so whipped.

So Sunday night is good. Good enough that I forget to set my alarm for the morning. I wake the following day with a yawn, squinting in the afternoon sun with a feeling of discomfort hanging over me as if I've forgotten something.

And I have forgotten something.

1:47, the clock screams at me. I scrunch up my nose. Wasn't I supposed to do something today? Not for work, and not something with Jaime or Jack….

Shit. Mike.

Desperately, I grab my phone and tap out a message to the brand new contact.

_It's Tony. I just woke up, sorry._

I bolt upright and throw off my clothes while racing into the bathroom to take a shower. In record time, I've washed my hair, cleaned my tunnels, and scrubbed the stale sweat from my body. I don't even bother toweling off and scramble back to my room to check my phone.

And nothing.

Mike didn't even text me back? Well, fuck. I thought he'd be anxiously waiting for a message. I thought he'd worry I was blowing him off, then rejoice when I texted him. But unless he's spent the last seven minutes typing out a reply, he hasn't even read the damn text. I really ought to stop freaking out over small shit. Being neurotic is humbling sometimes.

After a short session of calling myself a stupid eager ass, I slip on some jeans and trudge into the kitchen. I'm in the middle of popping bread into the toaster when my phone vibrates in my pocket.

_No sweat. Me too_.

Ah, fuck. I'm an idiot. Of course he just woke up. We have the same fucking job; he probably went to sleep the same time I did. With every once of self-control I can muster, I wait until my toast is finished before I reply.

_Are we still on for today?_

I butter the toast, popping it into my mouth and humming a song under my breath. I've finished my breakfast by the time Mike responds.

_Sure. Vercelli's at 2:30?_

I tell him okay, then go find a shirt. Admittedly, I'm nervous. I'm not sure what for, though. He can't beat me up; we work at the same place. Austin would probably fire him. I decide to grab my skateboard and head out; skating always calms my nerves. I arrive a couple minutes early and request a mocha.

I find myself constantly checking my phone for the time. 2:30. 2:31. 2:35. 2:40. A sick feeling in my stomach tells me he blew me off to fuck with me, and I'm about to stand up in shame and leave when he strolls in at 2:43 with a bored look on his face. I'm more relieved than I'm willing to admit. He nods, then slides up to the counter to order. I busy myself with scrolling through my phone while I wait.

"Hey," he says, sliding into the booth across from me. I try not to look up too quickly but fail, blushing indistinctly.

"How are you?" I ask. He tests the heat of his coffee with his tongue, then winces, muttering something about it being hot.

"I'm alright," he says. "Fucking tired."

"I'm sorry. I probably woke you up. We could've done this later, you didn't have to—"

"Chill," Mike grins. "It's fine." He chuckles lightly, making the mistake yet again of trying to drink his scalding coffee. "Ow."

"Careful," I murmur, instantly feeling stupid for saying it.

"Shut up," he sneers, and I meet his eyes, alarmed, but then realize he's joking what with the smirk on his face. "Damn. You are one tense motherfucker, aren't you? Ease up. I won't hurt you."

"Well…you _did_ push me into a wall," I reason.

"Yeah. Sorry about that. I was pissed off."

I take a sip of my mocha. "It's understandable."

After a brief, tense silence, he asks, "Are you going to explain, or what? I'm being civil now, but I do need to know what's going on." I meet his eyes while he continues. "I want the truth, too. If it's viable, we'll work something out. But if it's not, you're going to have to see Austin about it, and I don't think you want that."

I nod, shrinking into myself. What if he thinks I'm lying? Worse, what if he doesn't accept what happened as reasonable and I get sent to Austin anyway? I'm full-on sweating when Mike says, "Well?"

I swallow. "I, uh…so I had the money when I bought the stuff from you. Well, not with me, of course, but it was in my bank account. Then I tried to use my debit card for something else, and it was denied. That didn't make sense because I had like three thousand in my account, so I called my bank, and they said it was empty."

Mike sips his coffee, now cool enough to drink. "So someone stole it?"

"Well, yeah, I'm assuming. I sure as hell didn't use the money."

"Couldn't they reimburse you?"

I wring my hands, unable to meet his eyes. "They…they could, but they'd have to do an investigation to make sure I didn't take the money." I glance around to ensure no one's listening. "Austin gave you a talk about the authorities, right?"

"Yeah. Stay out of trouble and shit, but I thought that was just with the police."

"Well, it mostly is, but it's also with hospitals and insurance and things like that. They could just as easily figure out what we do for a living, you know?"

He nods, stoic expression. "That makes sense." I nearly sigh in relief.

"Yeah. So…I tried to get loans from people, and I got some, but my first priority is rent and feeding myself."

"Okay. I get it."

"And I hope you know that I _do_ plan on paying you back," I say honestly. Even if I could get away with it, I'd have a heavy conscience cheating him out of two-hundred-fifty dollars. That much can keep a single man alive for weeks.

Mike takes a swig of his coffee. "Well, let's talk about that." He peers up at my eyes with a look I can't decipher. "First, I've got to ask, what did you do with the stuff?"

I smile awkwardly. "I gave it to Jaime. He's one to try and get free goods." Mike sours at the mention of Jaime.

"Like, he's a cheater?"

I shake my head. "No, not a cheater. A con man, maybe. But he's not bad."

Mike purses his lips. "I…I'm probably overstepping my boundaries here, but what do you see in him?"

"In Jaime?" I furrow my eyebrows. "You mean, like…sexually?"

"Or romantically," Mike nods, fidgeting, and I laugh.

"Oh, god," I snort. "I don't see Jaime like that at _all_."

"What? You don't?"

"Fuck no. He's my best friend." I grin. "I don't know how the hell you got that impression."

His eyes darken. "You're messing with me."

"Wh…what?"

"You two are fucking each other, and I know it."

I shudder at the thought. Jaime's not unattractive or anything, but I would never fuck him. "No," I say. "He has a girlfriend."

"Then why were you two dancing on each other?" he deadpans. I suppress my grin. So Mike _was_ watching. Smugly, I shake my head.

"We were just messing around. Jaime's straight."

"You like him, though, don't you?"

I sputter out a laugh. "God, no! He's like my brother. That's just…." I shake my head and smile, but he narrows his eyes.

"Why don't I believe you?"

"God, I don't know. Why don't you?"

Mike folds his arms. "Remember that time I got you all flustered?"

I murmur, "I wasn't flustered," but I do know what he's talking about. When he grabbed my padawan braid and his hand touched my face…. I look down, studying his calloused skin.

"He fucking pinched your ass and then gave me this look, like he was warning me. It was like he was marking his territory."

I shake my head. "I don't know what that look was, but he was just being a douche with the pinching thing."

"No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes."

He sighs. "Well, even if that's true, the day I blew up at you—you know? Before we saw each other, I fucking saw you kiss him. So there."

I scrunch up my nose. Kiss him? I've never done _that_. Well, except that one time when we were twenty, but that was just for practice.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I say honestly. He sighs, clearly growing tired of this conversation.

"You were serving drinks, and it looked like you were arguing, but then you went in and kissed him. I saw it, okay? So stop fucking lying."

I retain my confusion, but then it clicks. "Oh! You mean when I was threatening him." I laugh. "See, Jaime was being a bitch and not telling me something, so I said, 'Tell me or I'll kiss you' because he definitely wouldn't want his girlfriend to hear about that. But he gave in before I actually did. Thank fucking god."

He chugs the rest of his coffee. "Bullshit."

I sigh and shrug. "I don't know what to tell you, man. Jaime and I are platonic. I've got eyes for someone else."

Once I realize what I've said, I bite my tongue and curse myself. Fucking shit! Why did I say that? Mike meets my eyes, curious.

"Who, then?" he asks. My cheeks heat up.

"Uh…I'm not at liberty to say," I try. He rolls his eyes.

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard. Just tell me; this isn't fucking fourth grade last time I checked."

"I'd rather not," I say, and busy myself with my coffee. He grumbles.

"Who is it? Alan?"

My eyes widen. "What? No! That's…no."

"You're a terrible liar."

"I promise it's not Alan. Look, I'll tell you later, but we have more to talk about."

He mutters in defeat, "Fine."

I down the remainder of my coffee, bar the sludge pooled at the bottom, and push it to the side. Then, I turn to Mike.

"How soon do you want me to pay you off?" I ask. He purses his lips, igniting the nerves in my body. God, he looks hot when he does that.

"Well, obviously, as soon as you can, but when will that be?" He meets my eyes, face steely and business-like. Even when he's serious, he still looks fucking handsome.

I say truthfully, "I don't know. I'm paid well, so it can't be too long, but I have bills I need to take care of first so that I don't lose my apartment and shit."

He nods. "Yeah, I understand. So no estimate?"

"No," I shrug apologetically.

"Well, I'm a reasonable guy. You could crunch a few numbers when you get home to figure it out, if you'd like. But I have a better idea that'll keep us both entertained."

I meet his eyes nervously. "Wh…what is it?" I ask, but he says nothing and just holds my stare.

Finally, he says, "I'll tell you later. Don't want to soil the family atmosphere in here." He gestures around him, and I gulp. What could be bad enough to 'soil the family atmosphere' when we were just talking about cocaine?

He notices my apprehensive expression and says, "Relax. You'll like this idea."

I swallow. "O…okay." He smiles and studies me, but I'm unable to hold his gaze. It feels like those damn eyes are boring holes into my skin. Fucking Mike Whatever-His-Name-Is has confidence matched by no other.

"You're so shy," he chuckles. I look up at him and furrow my eyebrows, doing best to look annoyed.

"I'm not shy." Yes I am.

He snorts. "Sure. I bet I can get you flustered with five words."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Hit me with your best shot."

He bites his lip for a moment, thinking, before he smirks. "Do you like gay sex?"

I sputter out a laugh, my cheeks undoubtedly flaming. I hide behind my hair while he sits back and grins smugly. "That's what I thought," he says.

"Shut up," I groan playfully.

"Hey." He fake pouts. "Just for that, you have to answer my question."

"What question?" I ask, although I have a pretty good idea of what he means.

"Do you like gay sex?" He looks at me pointedly and I grin nervously.

"Well, yeah. It's sex. I like _all_ sex."

"Oh yeah? What are your kinks?"

I blush. "Uh…I think that's a conversation for a different time."

He sighs and leans back. "Okay, fine. Now try one on me."

"One of what?"

"Try to get me flustered with five words."

I nod. "Alright. Uh...let me think." How could I get _him_ flustered? He's probably never blushed in his whole life. When I can't think of anything better, I say, "How big is your dick?"

He just smirks. "Weak. Six inches. I win this round."

"Oh, so this is a game now?"

"If you're alright with that, princess." He smiles lazily before glancing down. He pulls out his phone, looks at it, and groans. "I've got to take this," he says. I nod, and he stands up and walks away.

I can't help but peer at his ass when he's turned around; he has on black skinny jeans and a tank top. I can't believe he thought Jaime and I were a thing, _and_ that I wanted Alan. I can see why people would think Jaime and I are together, but we're not as bad as Jack and Alex. If they can pass as best friends, then so can we.

And Alan? He's not bad-looking, but he's so boring. If only Mike would give my taste a little credit.

He returns a moment later, but doesn't sit down, smiling apologetically. "I have to go," he says. "Thanks for meeting me here."

"No problem," I grin, showing him I don't hate him or anything. "Are you, uh…are you going to tell me about the, uh, paying you off thing? You know…your idea or whatever?"

He smirks, "Damn, you're smooth," then chuckles. "How about this: you try to get Thursday off and meet me at work. Then, you'll buy me a drink and we'll talk about payment. And the person you want. I'm still betting on Alan, by the way."

"It's not Alan," I grumble. He just laughs.

"We'll see. So do we have a deal?"

"Sure," I nod.

He grins. "Cool. I'll see you later, Tony. Six inches—remember that for your fantasies." Before he can even notice my alarmed blush, he's gone.

And I remember six inches that night.


	9. Chapter 9

It's Wednesday now, and I'm sitting upside-down on Jaime's couch, only half paying attention to _Scream_ on the TV. He's obnoxiously singing in the kitchen while he heats up a couple bags of popcorn.

"And that's about the time she walked away from me," he chants in near-falsetto. "Nobody likes you when you're twenty-three."

I yell, "Nobody likes you when you won't shut the fuck up!" and he gasps.

"Antonio! There's no need for that kind of language. Watch your fucking mouth."

I roll my eyes at the joke he must be so proud of and focus on the screen. I'm not sure why Jaime likes this movie so much; it was okay the first few times, but it's way less fun when you're not surprised. I guess if he can suffer through the _Star Wars_ movies, I can handle this.

My legs are hooked over the back of the couch and my head is hanging down the front, so I jump when Jaime grabs one of my feet. He laughs, while I just grumble.

"Want some popcorn?" He sets the bowl down on the floor by my head. I pop a few kernels in my mouth, chewing slowly. "You're quiet," he says.

"You're loud," I counter, but I know what he means. Truth be told, I've been thinking about how to get by until my next paycheck. It'll come next Sunday; I should get quite a bit of money for my month's work, but you'd be surprised how quickly that disappears after paying bills. It helps that I've been drinking less and eating mostly ramen. Still, I may have to take out a few more loans from Jaime and my other friends until I get the situation under control.

"What's up, Tone?" Jaime asks me.

"Just thinking," I mumble. He makes a 'tsk' sound with his tongue.

"No, you're worrying. What's the problem?"

I groan. "Himes, I don't have any fucking money. Do you know how ridiculous gas and shit is right now? I don't know what the fuck I'm going to do."

He sits on the couch beside me, pats my stomach, and sighs sympathetically. "Sorry, buddy. Do you want a handjob?"

I snort, and he grins seeing he's cheered me up a little.

"All joking aside," he says, "we could get some weed. Do you think that'll help?"

I crinkle my nose. "Nah. Last time I bought drugs I got in so much trouble that I had to dance with you to fix it." He chuckles. "I'll take a beer, though."

"You got it."

He disappears into the kitchen, then emerges moments later with a six pack. I pull one out, pop the cap off, and take a good swig. It's kind of funny the way I'm drinking it upside-down, yet no one's chanting at me to chug. We fall into silence, watching a gruesome scene unfold on the TV screen.

"How's Zoe?" I eventually ask, because I'm sure he's dying to rant about her. At the mention of her name, Jaime's face lights up.

"She's good. I took her to get her first tattoo. Isn't that rad?"

I nod. "Yeah. I saw it on Sunday. Did she get it before or after you guys fucked?"

"After, thank god. Getting sexy with a fresh tattoo sucks."

I hum my agreement, thinking of the time I got my neck done. That was a mess. Poor Spencer.

Jaime continues, "Yeah, so I was thinking that maybe in a couple of weeks, I'm going to ask her to move in with me."

My eyes widen. He wants the bitch in his house, permanently? "Jaime," I say. "You've only _known_ her for a couple of weeks." Seriously. How could he possibly think that's a good idea? Isn't there a two-month rule or something?

"Tone, I like her a lot. And she just turned eighteen, she won't want to stay with her parents much longer."

"She must have a friend she can move in with," I reason.

He pouts. "No. I want her here."

"But _why_?"

"Because I fucking like her! She's over all the time anyway; why not make it official?"

I point out, "She's not here right now."

"That's because _you're_ here." He rolls his eyes. "I need my Tone Bone time, too."

I sit up, the beer settling funny in my stomach. "You're being naïve, Jaime. Living with someone is fucking hard. It's not all sex and takeout."

He folds his arms. " _You're_ not all sex and takeout." I chuckle, but he just sets his expression.

I say, "You need to think about this, dude. She's a girl. She has girl things. She does girl things. What are you going to do when you want to fuck her, but she's on her period?"

Jaime shudders. "You had to mention that."

"Well, if you can't handle me saying it, how are you going to handle the real fucking thing?"

"Why can't _I_ be the gay one?" Jaime complains.

I protest, "I'm only half gay."

"Just watch the movie, asshole," he grumbles, defiantly folding his arms and ignoring the popcorn and beer. I roll my eyes and take a long swig.

Jaime doesn't speak again until the credits are rolling when he asks me what I want to watch next. I tell him I don't care and get up to take a piss. When I come back, he's pressing play on _Moonrise_ _Kingdom_.

"I don't like this one," I carp. "The twelve year olds have sex."

Jaime rolls his eyes. "They do not. And we can skip that part. It's a good fucking movie."

I murmur a meaningless response, pop open another beer, and flop down on the couch. Jaime tells me to scoot over but doesn't wait for me to react, instead draping himself across the other end, his legs in my lap. He grabs the popcorn from the ground, settling in.

We're only a few minutes into the movie when I realize that I'm having trouble seeing. I mutter, "Dammit," squinting.

"What is it, Tone Bone?" Jaime asks, idly munching popcorn.

"I think I need glasses."

"Nerd," he snorts, and laughs in good nature. "Why, though?"

"Because I can't fucking see, dumbass."

"Well, no shit! I meant why now?"

"Hell if I know. The TV's fucking blurry."

"Are you on drugs?"

I scoff. "What do you think? And I've only had one beer."

"Hm. You must be getting old, then."

I fall silent, occasionally squinting to make sense of what's on the screen. Soon, I have a headache and I'm pushing Jaime's legs off of me to grab some water.

"Hurry back," he says. "You haven't even made me come yet." I just roll my eyes at him.

When I'm in the kitchen, I realize I'm supposed to get tomorrow off. But should I ask Austin or Alan? On one hand, Austin might not want to deal with something petty like a random employee wanting the day off. On the other hand, Alan's a dick and is less likely to grant my request. I decide on Austin.

"Jaime," I call. "I'm going to talk to Austin real quick so don't do anything stupid." I figure he'll do something stupid anyway, but at least now I can tell him off for it.

The dial tone sounds enough times that I think it's going to go to voicemail, but at the last second, Austin picks up.

"Austin Carlile speaking," he yawns into the receiver.

"Hey, Austin. It's Tony."

"Oh, hey, Perry. What's up?"

I bite my lip, suddenly nervous. "Uh, I was wondering if I could get Thursday off?" I phrase it as a question rather than a statement.

"Oh, yeah? What for?"

Shit. I mean, I can tell him, of course, but what if he doesn't see it as a viable reason? From the other room, Jaime calls, "Tony! Come back to bed!"

"Shut up, Jaime," I yell, holding the phone away from me. "Sorry, sir. Uh…see, Mike and I had a bit of a disagreement, but we're working it out. The thing is, he wants to take tomorrow to talk about it some more, and I know it doesn't sound—"

"Relax, Perry," he says. "You can have the day off. Alan will fill in for you. I still want you to show up, though. Can you and Mike talk about it at work?"

"Yes, sir. That was the plan."

"Good plan, then," he laughs. "I just want you to stick around so that you can help Alan out if he needs it. You can do that, right, Perry?"

I nod, then realize he can't see me. "Of course, sir."

"Cool. I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"You too. Have a good day."

I hang up the phone, relatively surprised that it went down that easily. I suppose I haven't asked for a day off in over a year, but still—Austin could totally control me and I wouldn't think twice about it.

"Tony Perry, get your ass in here and tell me what that phone call was about!" Jaime demands. I sigh; he's going to flip a shit after hearing that Mike and I spoke. I haven't told him yet for two reasons: one, he's going to overreact and think Mike and I are going to fuck (Which we aren't. Probably.); two, I lost the damn bet and I'm going to have to get a tattoo of Jaime's fucking face. I know for a fact that he's going to gloat like all hell, and putting up with that isn't fun.

I poke through Jaime's cupboards, looking for Tylenol so that I can at least shed my headache. Finally, I discover it wedged between two boxes of cereal and take out a couple of capsules.

"What the hell are you doing in there?" Jaime whines.

"I needed some meds," I say, slipping back into the living room. Jaime is now lying down across the whole couch. I sit on his stomach and he responds with an 'oof' before pushing me off. I land on the ground and stay there.

"You know what I'm about to ask you, Tone," says Jaime. I sigh and grab another beer; I feel a tiny buzz from the first two, but I'd like to be slightly more intoxicated. Is it safe to take beer with Tylenol? Probably not.

"What, Himes?" He places his hand on my head and messes with my hair. I shrug him off.

"Tell me about that phone call you just made."

I say simply, "I was asking for the night off."

"Yeah, no shit. Why?"

"Because Mike and I are going to talk about stuff."

Jaime bolts up, spilling the popcorn and clapping. "Ha! I fucking won!" He's bouncing around now, giving me this smug look. "You're going to get a new tattoo of my fucking face! Oh, Tone Bone, you must feel pretty damn stupid right about now."

"You're the one who spilled the popcorn," I snap. Jaime puts his hands up in defense.

"Chill. I have a right to celebrate. And we can clean up the popcorn; I mean, it goes in our mouths. Come on, help me eat it."

He sits down beside me on the floor and starts popping kernels into his mouth. I join him and hand him a beer.

"No, thanks. I don't like beer." he says.

"What? You love beer."

"Whatever. I just don't want any. Now you have to tell me what happened with Mike."

I sigh and take a sip. I'm going to have to piss really soon.

"Nothing really happened," I tell him. "He came up to me on Saturday and asked if we could get coffee and talk about what happened. I met him at Vercelli's on Monday, I explained, and that was it. He had to leave, so we didn't really get to work anything out, which is why he asked me to try to get Thursday off." I pause to eat a few pieces of popcorn and drink some more beer. "And, uh, he wants me to buy him a drink."

At that, Jaime's face lights up. "A drink? Dude! You will be getting some action damn _soon_. I can't believe you haven't already told me this!"

I mumble, "It wasn't anything," but smile smugly. I know Mike doesn't want to fuck me immediately, but he has been flirting. It's even satisfying to get just that from a guy like him.

"Tony fucking Perry," Jaime breathes. "You're a stud, aren't you?"

"Yeah," I laugh jokingly. "You're lucky to have me as your amigo."

"Whoa, Tone. Don't break out the Spanish. You know how I get when I hear Spanish."

Jaime was raised in a Mexican family, so sometimes he'll forget English words and syntax and start speaking Spanish. I'm Mexican too, but my Spanish is shit and I usually have a hard time deciphering it.

For the rest of the night, Jaime and I joke around and watch movies. I get a little drunk from all the beer, and he eventually leaves me on the couch so I can sleep. I haven't had a quiet night in with my best friend in a long time. I'm happy that he's with Zoe, but I'll admit she has him on a pretty tight leash, so it's hard to get time alone with him. In the morning, he gives me more pills for my headache and sends me home. He may be annoying sometimes, but Jaime is a pretty good best friend.


	10. Chapter 10

One thing I know is that I'm not stupid. I can be oblivious, and I can be naïve. But usually, I can tell when someone wants me.

And Mike?

Well.

The night starts off pretty normally. I come in at my usual time to find Alan unlocking the bar. No one's actually here yet besides him, me, Austin, and probably a few entertainers and techs. Because I'm so early, I help Alan bring in a few crates and pour the ice under the shelves. We use it to keep stuff like beer cold.

It's strange to watch people come in all at once, turning a lonely, spacious room into a crowded, buzzing hall full of body heat. Nobody except for employees can get in before Rian arrives at 8:50 because you need a key. By 8:30, the hallway outside the club gets pretty packed, but never enough to overflow. Anyone who gets here on time is here for the show. If you come later, you're here to party.

After Alan is all set up, I leave him alone. I don't want to be one of those workaholic losers who don't trust anyone to do their job. Anyway, if Alan messes up, it's not like I'll be chewed out. _He_ probably won't even be chewed out. Austin will just take it for what it is.

Because it's Thursday, a good, heavy band should be playing. I decide to go stand by the stage and wait around. The crowd is sparse at first, but by nine, I become surrounded by people. A group of girls asks me why I'm not working. I'm not sure how to answer them; it requires a little bit of a background story to anyone who doesn't really know me or Mike. I consider telling them I have a date, but realize that's a horrible idea. It's obviously not a date in the first place, and I'd get in a shitload of trouble if a rumor started that it was.

"I have a meeting," I tell them after a few moments of searching for an explanation. They seem to accept it, and resume their own conversation.

It's then that I realize I'm nervous, just like I was before getting coffee. It can't be for the same reason this time. Before that afternoon, the last major interaction with him I had, he was fucking pissed at me. Coffee could've been code for a beating. Now, I suppose that could still be true, but it would make much less sense. Why wait until work to pummel me?

So I must be nervous for a different reason. Really, I know what it is. I'm nervous because I find Mike fucking fascinating and sexy and smooth and I want him to like me.

I'm such a teenager.

At exactly 9:05, a snare drum pulls me out of my thoughts, drawing my attention to the stage. A muscled drummer with long, black hair is perched on the stool when three darkly clad men with guitars run out and take their places.

The middle one growls into his microphone, "Good evening, San Diego. We are Lustrap and we are going to rock your fucking world. Now get off your feet!"

The crowd instantly goes nuts, people cheering and pushing and dancing and headbanging. I join in, of course. I know I'm an introvert in most situations, but I have no inhibitions in a crowd while there's heavy music playing. Against the rapid lead, thick chugging, and growling vocals, I hop around and bang my head. It's fucking fun; it's been too long since I've done this.

By the time the first song is done, I'm sweating and breathing hard. I really should work out more. I make a mental note to do some pushups when I get home before sliding ahead in the crowd a few spaces.

I mosh during the next couple of songs, then decide to get a drink.

I say, "Hey, Alan," as I walk up to the bar. It's kind of funny being on the other side. I request a beer, and while he finds it, I search the hall, looking for Mike. I don't see him, but I spot Jaime and wave.

"Here, Tony. Do you have a tab?" Alan asks, sliding the cold drink over the countertop. I nod and catch it.

"Should be under Perry. Have you seen Mike?"

I note a small change in Alan's disposition; he probably doesn't care for the fact that I'm off because of him. "He came in earlier. He's working, so he should be around."

"Thanks, Alan. I'll probably be back later. Sorry you had to cover me."

"Hey, it's cool. You work your ass off. You deserve a night."

I smile and salute him before leaving the bar and going over to the couches by the crowd where I saw Jaime. He's still there, with Zoe cuddled up against him.

"What's up, lovebirds?" I ask before sitting down across from them. The band is damn good, so most of the people are in the crowd and we have the couches to ourselves.

"Damn, it's weird to see you relaxing in here," says Jaime.

"It _feels_ weird. I almost want to go over there and serve some drinks." I pry the cap off my beer and take a sip.

"Dude, this band rocks," Zoe says, turning around to look up at the stage. Jaime and I murmur our agreement.

"Have either of you seen Mike?" I ask, knowing full-well how eager I sound. So what if I'm eager? I told Austin I took the night off so I could speak to Mike, and I intend to do so. I'm not going to mosh and mess around the whole time.

"What do you need Mike for?" asks Zoe. I raise my eyebrows, surprised that Jaime hasn't told her yet. They must've been mostly fucking.

"We're going to talk," I tell her. Jaime grins suggestively.

"Yeah, _talk_."

I groan, "Shut up, you fifth grader," while Zoe giggles.

"I haven't seen your boy toy," Jaime informs me, and I just nod and down some more of my drink.

"What have you guys been up to?" I ask them.

"Sex," says Jaime.

Zoe shrieks, "Jaime!" but she's smiling.

"What, you wanted me to lie to him?" He grins adoringly at her and pecks her lips. He must really fucking like her with the way he's looking at her. It's good to see Jaime so happy, but I don't care much for their PDA. I can't help but avert my eyes when they kiss.

"How was your hangover, Tone?" Jaime asks me after a moment.

I tell him, "It wasn't too bad. I wasn't that drunk, though."

"You were drunk enough to sing Queen at the top of your lungs."

I mutter, "You don't need to tell the whole fucking world about it."

"Hey, it was a good moment. A drunk Tony is a happy Tony."

I don't get full-on wasted very often, but when I do, it can get crazy. After awhile, I start to think I'm in a video game and do stupid shit like ask random people how they're doing in the hopes that they'll tell me something useful for my quest. It's always either a video game or a dream—you shouldn't leave me alone when I'm smashed because I might jump off of something thinking I can fly. At least it makes for some funny stories.

Eventually, Jaime and Zoe decide to go dance, and I stand up to look for Mike. After a few minutes of futile searching, I realize how badly I have to piss. I take care of business, then bump into him on my way out.

"Oh. Hi," I say. "I was looking for you."

"Oh, I see how it is. Bitches tryna find me," he says. We both grin.

"Not exactly, but sure."

"Yeah, whatever. How about that drink?" He puts a hand on the small of my back, shooting thrills through me, and guides me over to the bar. I do my best not to look too pleased while asking him what he wants.

"I'll take whiskey," he says, keeping his hand on my back. I can't hold back a small grin when he doesn't pull away.

Once Alan's free, I tell him, "Two whiskeys, please. Both on my tab." He looks a little grumpy at the sight of us together, but pours two glasses wordlessly. Once they're in my hand, I thank Alan and turn to Mike. "Where do you want to go?"

He finally pulls back his hand and points up at the balcony. The skin on my back buzzes from the absence of his touch, but I just hand him his drink and follow him upstairs. Instead of choosing a couch, he picks a table right by the glass with a view of the stage. Lustrap is still powering through their set as it's only ten o'clock. Even after a whole hour, they're good.

I turn away and peer at Mike while taking a sip of the whiskey. It burns in my throat, but I'm more than used to that. "Are we going to talk business now or later?" I ask him.

He looks me up and down and smirks. "Later, when I've loosened you up a little." His words ignite something in my stomach that has me smiling nervously.

"Uh, okay. So…what now?"

He downs his drink in one go, then looks at me. "Now, we get to know each other. Drink your whiskey."

I obey as he stares at me, shaking my head slightly to counter the bitter taste. "I take it you're trying to get me drunk."

"I'm trying to get you to have a little fun. You're so damn tense. I mean, it's cute, but let's face it: you're probably three times as much fun when your guard's down."

He called me cute.

Oh.

"So," he continues. "Until you're comfortable around me, I'm going to have you keep drinking."

I'm not sure how to respond to him, but I don't have to, because he keeps talking.

"We're going to play a game. I ask you a question, and you ask me a question. First one who refuses to answer loses. Are you in?"

I study him, but can't find a motive in his expression. "Y-yeah, I guess."

He grins and says coolly, "Good. I'll get us some more truth juice. Finish off that whiskey."

Mike flags Oliver down while I polish off my drink.

"Hey, Oli. Could you refill these with Jack?" asks Mike sweetly. He slides our glasses to the end of the table. "On my tab."

I begin to protest that I'll pay for my own drink, but Mike turns me down, insisting that I shouldn't get in any more debt. He wins me over with a pointed look and I drop it.

When Oliver's gone, Mike turns to me. "Do you want to go first?"

I shrug, and he sighs, "Stop being so quiet. There's no need to be nervous. I like you, you know." Before I even have time to widen my eyes, he says, "I'll go first. How old were you when you lost your virginity?"

And there he goes with the sex questions. "Uh…to a girl or a guy?"

"Both."

I protest, "That's not fair, that's a double-question." He rolls his eyes, but smiles.

"Fine. Just in general."

"Then I was seventeen. And it was a girl."

He grins. "Damn, casanova."

" _I'm_ a casanova? How old were you?"

"Fourteen. My turn again."

"What? No it's not. I didn't ask you anything."

He smirks. "You asked me when I lost my virginity. Be more careful next time, Tony."

I mutter, "Dammit," but grin. Mike lost his virginity at fourteen? He must've been a little piece of jailbait. I'm not even surprised. He's damn good-looking, and damn smooth.

"Alright," he says. "Follow-up question. When did you lose your virginity to a guy?"

"Uh…do you mean giving it or taking it?"

He pauses in thought, then says, "Taking it."

"I was twenty-four. Jaime was actually before me, barely"

He furrows his eyebrows. "I thought you said Jaime was straight."

"He is. It's a long story…and a good one. It has vampires in it."

"You're shitting me."

"Oh, it's real. But I'm not allowed to talk about it."

Mike pouts playfully. "You can't tempt me with a story like that and just not tell it."

"Maybe someday."

"Fine," he says as Oli returns from downstairs with our drinks. He sets them down on the table and turns to Mike.

"I hope you have a tip for me, mate."

Mike chuckles and pulls out his wallet. "No shame, huh, Sykes?"

"'Course not. I have to support Josh and myself, don't I? He doesn't work."

Mike hands Oliver a five. "Well, I wouldn't know about your boyfriend. You should bring him around someday so I can see how well you scored."

Oli snorts. "Fuck no. You and every other bloke in here'll try to fuck him. I plan to keep him to myself, thanks."

"Oh, come on. I won't let Tony steal him."

"Me?" I protest, and Mike winks, setting my face aflame.

"Speaking of my little Franceschi," says Oliver, "I promised him I'd grab some weed from you. Do you have a minute?"

Mike stands up. "Sure." He turns to me. "I'll be right back, Tony. Don't run off." As he leaves, he squeezes my shoulder, shooting adrenaline through me.

I'm left sitting alone, reeling at everything he said, when Jaime and Zoe come up the stairs. Zoe spots me and points while I twirl around the whiskey in my glass. They slide in the booth across from me.

"Did you find him, Tone?" asks Jaime.

"Yeah. You kind of stole his seat."

"Guess he'll just have to sit by you, then." He winks, and I glare at him in good nature. "Where is he?"

"Getting some weed for Oli."

"Oh, Oli's here?" Jaime asks, grabbing my glass out of my hand and taking a sip. "Did you ask him about your tattoo?"

"No, Himes." I pull my glass back.

Zoe asks, "You're getting a tattoo?"

I grumble, "Yeah, a fucking stupid one."

"He lost a bet," Jaime explains. "So he has to get a tattoo of my face."

Zoe snorts. "Oh, man. Poor Tony."

"See? She gets it," I say to the pouting Jaime. Zoe melts at his expression, pinches his cheeks, and kisses him quickly.

"You know I'm joking, sweetheart," she says, grinning. "What was the bet?"

"So you know how there are rumors that Tony and I have a thing? It's because Mike blew up at him for no fucking reason and I thought of a brilliant plan to put him in his place. I told Tony if it didn't work, I'd pay him five hundred dollars. And if it did, he'd get a tattoo of my face."

"What does that have to do with the rumors?"

"Oh, right. Well, we grinded on each other in front of Mike."

Zoe erupts in laughter and whistles. "That must've been hot."

I sigh and down most of my drink while Jaime says, "He wants me now."

I say, "Sure, Himes," as he winks at me. Mike chooses that moment to come back up the stairs, laying his hand on my shoulder once again and making me blush.

"Oh, so you've replaced me, huh, Tony?" he asks, sliding in beside me and grabbing his drink from across the table. Jaime grins when he sees how close we're sitting, a fact I'm very aware of.

"Jaime has dependency issues," I elucidate, picking up my whiskey and taking another sip. I'm definitely on the verge of a buzz by now, so hopefully, the blushing will stop soon.

"That's too bad," he yawns. "And who's this?" He gestures to Zoe.

She sticks out her hand. "I'm Zoe. Jaime's girlfriend." They shake hands, and Mike raises an eyebrow.

"So she _is_ real."

"Told you," I mutter, while Jaime pouts, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"He thought we were fucking," I explain. Zoe giggles and grabs my drink out of my hand, taking a sip and handing it to Jaime.

"Would you guys get your own?" I complain. Jaime ignores me, downing the rest of my whiskey. "Don't be an asshole, Himes."

"Don't be an alcoholic," he counters.

"I'll get you another one when I see Oli," Mike murmurs into my ear, sending shivers down my spine.

"What? No, I'll get it," I protest.

"I'm not letting you spend any money while you still owe me."

"But doesn't it cancel out if you pay?"

He puts his hand on my thigh and my breathing hitches. "You won't win this argument, Tony."

He squeezes and I say, "F-fine," cursing at the way I stutter. He smirks in satisfaction, and, to my dismay, retracts his hand. Then, he turns to Jaime and Zoe.

"What were you guys talking about?" he asks brightly. How can he do that? How can he be all seductive one second and act friendly the next? He must think he's a real hot shot.

Well…he is.

"Jaime's STDs," Zoe says, unsuccessfully startling him.

"Oh yeah," Jaime agrees. "I've got 'em all. Herpes, chlamydia, gonorrhea, you name it."

"You're gross," says Zoe, punching him playfully.

"You should've thought of that before you slept with me," he smirks at her. She blushes, but smiles. Yeah, she's definitely a teenager.

Mike sips his drink, then hands it to me. I give him a sideways glance; he's just grinning slightly, gaze relaxed. I sip the drink and hand it back.

When I look to Jaime, he's staring at his phone with a shocked expression.

"What's wrong, Himes?" I ask him.

He breathes, "Holy shit," and shows it to Zoe. Her eyes widen, but she says nothing.

"What is it?" I persist.

"Nothing," he says quickly, glancing warily at Mike. "I've got to go talk to Jack. I'll see you later, Tone. Bye, Mike."

He stands up and slips away, pulling Zoe with him. I peek over the top of the booth to see them conversing animatedly and walking down the stairs.

"What the fuck was that?" I wonder aloud. Mike just shrugs.

"I don't particularly care. Are you feeling a buzz yet?"

I nod. "Yeah, a little. Are you?"

"Not really." He yawns. "Where the fuck did Oli go?"

Now it's my turn to shrug, and I glance at him carefully. "What exactly are you planning to do once you get me drunk?"

He looks at me lazily and grins, downing the remainder of his whiskey. "Wouldn't you like to know?" he says. And something about the way he's looking at me has me squirming under his gaze.

"You're still tense as hell," he says. "Do I make you nervous?"

"No," I defend instantly. It's not like he had to ask. We both know I'm lying.

"Mhm," he murmurs, grinning and throwing his arm around my shoulders. "I've got to put a stop to this problem somehow." He gets in close—so fucking close that my heart is about to beat out of my chest—and I swear he's going to kiss me. But he pulls back and calls, "Oliver, can we get a refill?"

I curse mentally. He fucking knows I want him. Why does he have to tease me about it? He's such an asshole. And I fucking love it.

He hums, "You didn't want me to stop, did you?" I blush and chew my lip, unwilling to meet his gaze and instead looking out at the crowd below. "You can't hide shit, Perry. I can read you like a book." He puts two fingers under my chin and brings my face around so I'm looking at him. "You want me to kiss you, don't you?" He smirks and gets close enough that I can feel his breath on my face. I don't think he's going to stop this time, so my eyes flutter closed. I anticipate the feeling of his lips on mine—hungry, of course, because neither of us are looking for romance, but he just chuckles and pulls back. I open my eyes, disappointed and embarrassed.

"You're so easy," he laughs. I furrow my eyebrows, frustrated.

"I'm not fucking easy."

"I'm teasing you, princess." He smirks. "You don't have to get all defensive."

"Yeah, well, how about you don't stop when you're about to kiss someone? It's fucking misleading. If you don't want to kiss me, don't act like you do."

"I'll kiss you later if you behave," he says.

"If I behave? You don't own me."

"Please. I've got you wrapped around my finger."

I don't say anything because it's fucking true. Oli finds his way over and Mike orders refills on our drinks. Once he's gone, he turns to me again.

"Why don't you tell me something?"

His arm is still around my shoulders and I don't let myself feel too comfortable while I say, "What do you want to know?"

"Well, at Vercelli's you said you've got your eye on someone. Who is it?"

I groan, "Do we have to talk about that?"

"Oh, we do. Are you sure it's not Alan?"

"It's not Alan, and you know it." I fidget with one of the napkins on the table. Mike knows exactly who it is; he's just being a dick and trying to get me to admit it. I don't think I've met someone cockier than him in my life.

"Alright, I know it's not Alan. But in my defense, I thought it was before."

"Right. And you know who it is, so there's no point in trying to get me to spell it out."

He tightens his grip and looks right at me, smirking. "What makes you think I know?"

"You're such an asshole," I complain. He just laughs.

"Come on. Tell me his name."

I shoot him the bird, but he's unfazed.

"Well?"

I mutter, "It's you." He cracks an ear-splitting grin.

"I knew you wanted me, princess."

"Yeah, obviously, so why'd you make me say it?"

He leans in close to my ear, and my heart stops. "Because it's fun to watch you squirm."

Two glasses are set on the table then, and I look up to see Oli raising an eyebrow.

"You two are getting awful friendly," he says. "I won't snitch, but you'd better be careful in case Austin or Aaron comes up."

"We weren't doing anything," I mumble while Mike fishes out his wallet for another tip.

"Yeah," says Mike. "I mean, Tony has a crush on me, but we're cool."

"You're a dick," I groan while Oli and Mike laugh.

"I don't blame you, Tone. Mike's sexy. Don't tell Josh I said that," Oli chuckles before slipping away.

"Drink up," Mike says. "We've got to get you past this asshole stage."

"You're the asshole," I mutter, but I down the whole glass and cough lightly. "Just so you know, I might get weird. You're going to have to make sure I don't do anything stupid."

"Looking forward to it," he smiles before downing his own glass. He clears his throat after swallowing. "Damn, I haven't had this much whiskey in a long time."

"Me neither," I admit. "But this'll be the second night in a row I've gotten drunk."

"What happened last night?" Mike asks.

"Nothing, really. I just had a few too many beers at Jaime's place."

He hums and looks out at the band playing. Lustrap's set ended a few songs ago, and now a group called Sixth Serpent is jamming. They're not quite as good, but they're tolerable.

Between my third drink and 11:30, something happens, and I become a drunken mess. It's embarrassing, really. Slurring my speech, leaning in too close, erupting in fits of laughter…and Mike doesn't hesitate to make fun of me. Not that I care at this point. The alcohol feels so damn good and I have this sexy man beside me, who I can stare at all I want.

I bring my hand up to grab his lip ring and play with it, and he laughs.

"I like you drunk. You have no boundaries."

"Stop moving," I command him, pinching the ring and wiggling it around.

"Don't rip it out of my face," he warns. I frown.

"Don't you trust me, Mike?"

"Nope," he grins, grabbing my hand and pulling it away. He's a little drunk too, and he doesn't let go.

My skin tingles where he's touching me, and I bring my free hand up to feel the stubble on his face.

"You're a hairy man," I say quietly, somehow fascinated with his rough skin. He chuckles.

"You're a girly drunk."

"Am not," I glower.

"Yeah, you are. But it's okay. I like it."

"Do you want to dance?" I breathe.

"No."

"Oh." I frown and play with a strand of his hair.

He smirks, "You could dance for me on the pole."

"I'm not _that_ drunk," I snort. "You know, your friend Vic danced for Jaime and Phil one time."

"I'm not surprised. Vic is a sexual drunk."

"Where is he?" I peer around the balcony, but don't see him, Kellin, or Tino.

"He's not here," Mike tells me. "That's why I wanted to meet you today."

I furrow my eyebrows. "What does Vic have to do with it?"

"Nothing, don't worry about it." I frown, and I'm going to press further, but I'm distracted by Jonny's shirt.

"Hey, Jonny," I call. "Cool shirt!" He shoots me the metal horns and I do the same. The last I see is a glimpse of him talking to a girl and pulling out a pipe.

"So," I say, turning to Mike. "We haven't talked about your idea."

"What idea?" he asks, genuinely oblivious. He's just drunk enough to be forgetful, but not enough to act like a complete douchebag like I am.

I remind him, "About my debt."

"Oh, right." He glances around, checking who's in earshot. When he's sure no one's listening, he turns back to me, looking smug. "Alright, princess." He puts a hand on my thigh, and my heart goes wild. "I was thinking that I'll drop five bucks from your debt for every time you let me fuck you."

My breathing stops and I look at him in disbelief. _That's_ what he wants? I thought he was going to have me sell drugs to my friends or something.

Mike wants to fuck me?!

"A-are you serious?" I ask.

"Oh, come on. Don't act like you don't want it."

"Well…of course I want it. It just sounds like you're messing with me."

He chuckles. "Have a little confidence, Tony. You're sexy, and I've been wanting to fuck a dude for awhile. Are we on or not?"

I chew my lip. "You know what'll happen if someone finds out, right?" He rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, stupid policy, we'll both get in a shitload of trouble with Austin. I'm willing to risk it. Are you?"

I search his eyes for any hint that he's joking, not wanting to make a fool of myself at the last minute, but come up blank. It seems that he's serious.

"Yeah," I breathe. "Okay." He grins and squeezes my thigh.

"Good. Now how about we seal the deal with a kiss?"

My eyes widen; I'm somehow shocked that he wants to kiss me, which doesn't make much sense considering we just agreed to fuck. Mike leans in and puts a hand on my neck. It seems like he's asking permission, so I nod slightly and close my eyes.

When his lips touch mine, it's like my brain is telling me to abort mission. My heart is beating at a million miles per hour, and _god_ , the way his mouth feels has me melting under his touch. He smirks slightly, and swipes his tongue across my bottom lip. The fucker must be able to feel my pulse and he damn knows what this is doing to me. It's sobered me a little, and when he pulls away, I'm blushing again.

"Now you know how good of a kisser I am, and you won't back out," he says proudly. I grumble something in response, but honestly, I'm kind of stunned from the kiss. It's like on cartoons, where the babe kisses the guy and he gets all stupid. That's what Mike does to me.

"Sunday," he says, "I'll drive you over to my place after we get off work. Does that sound okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, cool." I find myself staring at his mouth. Fucking dammit.

"Alright." He smiles at me and squeezes my thigh again, shooting shivers through me. This fucking asshole is too confident for his own good. "Hey, I hate to leave you here, but I have to pick up Vic, Kellin, and Tino from a gig. I'll see you tomorrow, alright?" he says, still grinning smugly.

"Oh. Yeah, sure." He's leaving. Dammit. Why do I care? I shouldn't, but I do.

He stands up. "Oh, and I'd rather you not tell Jaime about our deal. Can you handle that?" He looks right at my eyes and I can't help but look away. How is he so intimidating even when I'm drunk?

"Yeah, of course," I say. "Be safe on the road."

"Yes, mom." He rolls his eyes. "See you."

I say it back quietly, and then he's gone.

Because I'm drunk, it takes every ounce of self-control not to tell Jaime what happened. He pries, of course, because he's Jaime Preciado and he has to know everything about everyone. I tell him that I'll talk about it when I'm not drunk, and he finally drops it.

I hang out with him and Zoe for awhile, but by one, I'm getting tired and Jaime agrees to drive me home. I feel bad pulling him away from Zoe, but I'm not stupid enough to drive home in my state. My final thought before my head hits the pillow is how Mike's lips felt on mine, and how I want to feel that again and again and again.


	11. Chapter 11

Words can't describe what it's like to see Mike before Sunday. I'm not even sure what it is. Awkward? Maybe. Whenever we make eye contact, he either winks or smirks, and I'm forced to look away. Jaime fucking notices.

"What's with those looks he's giving you?" he asks. It's Sunday now, and I have that feeling of anticipation in my stomach because I know what's happening later. Jaime's behind the counter with me; Zoe's sick, so it's one of those nights where he hangs around the whole time.

"It's nothing," I grumble, wiping a glass clean. Tonight is the second open-mic night ever, and the club is packed. Because last week's lineup was so good, everyone's here, wondering who else has hidden talent.

"Come on, Tone. You still haven't told me what happened a few days ago," Jaime prods.

"Well, nothing really happened," I defend.

"Tell me about the nothing, then. I've got to know what's going on in your life."

I sigh. "He spent the whole time making fun of me because I want him."

"Did you guys kiss?"

"No."

"Jonny says you did."

My stomach lurches. "Jonny was probably on LSD."

Fuck. If Jonny saw us, then who else did he tell? At least he's always high, so it's easy to convince people he's wrong.

"Are you going to tell me why you freaked out on Thursday?" I ask him.

"Hm?"

I explain, "You looked at your phone and then said you had to go talk to Jack."

"Oh, right. Listen, you can't tell anyone about this, okay?" he implores. I nod and he fishes out his phone. "See, I got this picture…." He holds up his phone to show me an image of Jenna and Tay kissing. "And I thought it was them just messing around. But then Jack texted me, and he said that Alex broke up with Tay. And you'll never guess why."

I yawn. "What is it, Himes?"

"So, this whole fucking time, Alex and Tay were only dating to cover up not one, but two relationships. So I guess Jenna and Tay are a thing, and so are Alex and Jack."

"Oh." I snort. "That's not very surprising. Why did they want to hide their relationships?"

"Well, Tay's parents are super religious, so they don't really want a gay daughter. And I guess it's the same story with Jack."

I pull out some drinks for a few customers, and then turn to Jaime again.

"Why were you so surprised?"

He lowers his voice. "Okay, so you can't tell anyone this part either. Alex is gay. Like, one-hundred-percent homosexual."

"What? He was turned on when we went to those clubs last month. And not just because of the dudes."

Jaime shrugs. "I don't know what to tell you. He said it himself."

"That's crazy," I whistle. "Not that I have a problem with it."

Jaime laughs. "Yeah, I know how much _you_ like dick. So how many full-on gay guys are there now? There's Kellin, Austin, Alex, Zack…there _was_ Shayley, before he dropped off the face of the earth."

I mumble to myself, "I should call Shay sometime." Jaime talks about other gossip until Justin stops by and asks him if he wants to hang out. I drop a subtle joke about vampirism, which has Justin looking alarmed, and then Jaime goes upstairs with him. I have a feeling he'll chew me out later for mentioning the time he and Justin fucked, but I can handle that.

By three, when it's time for me to close, the anticipation in my stomach is almost unbearable. I'm excited, but nervous as hell. A dude like Mike has to have tons of experience. I'm by no means a virgin, but it's rare that I get any action. Trying not to worry too much, I pull the bar's gates shut and lock it up.

Because it's Sunday, the end of the week, I bring Alan the tab sheet and other paperwork so that he can look it over.

"Did we make good money today?" he asks, setting the folder down on his desk.

"We did," I assure him. "I think open-mic night was a good idea for business."

He grins. "I agree. Oh, and Austin wants to know if you and Mike worked out your issues."

My heart rate spikes, but I keep my cool and say, "Yeah. Thank you guys for giving me the night. Mike and I are friends now."

"Well, good. I'll be sure to let Austin know you said that."

I smile politely. "I'll see you next week, sir."

"Later, Perry."

I leave his office, shutting the door behind me, wondering what I should do now. It's not like I can hang around Mike until he gets off work. And even if Jaime were still here, he'd be wondering why I'm still around. I'm kind of lost when I feel a hand on my shoulder.

"You're off now?" Mike asks me as I turn around.

"Yeah," I nod.

"Want to get out of here?" He tilts his head toward the door and it starts to sink in what's about to happen. I just swallow.

"You're already off? I thought you worked until four."

"I do." He winks. "I can leave a few minutes early. Go wait for me outside; I've got to put some stuff away."

He pinches my ass and slips away before I can even react. I'm unwilling to think about how excited he gets me because thinking means feelings and I don't want those. Instead, I do as he says and depart the club. Rian's looking exhausted when I pass him. The poor guy stands in one place for seven hours a day, four nights a week. I don't think he's ever had a night off since there's no one to cover him. It's a good thing this club is already illegal, because Rian could probably claim abuse and get Austin in trouble.

I step out into the cool night air and lean up against the wall. If I smoked, now would be a good time to do so. But because I don't favor flooding my lungs with carcinogens, I just stand and wait.

Mike doesn't take long. It must've only been five minutes when he leaves the building too. When he spots me, he smiles lazily and leads the way to his car.

"You don't think you'll get in trouble for playing hooky on your last hour of work?" I ask him. He just snorts.

"No. On Thursday, I left halfway through the night to pick up Vic and his friends. No one even noticed."

I hum. "I guess you're right."

He points to a black Volvo and hops in the driver's seat. Gingerly, I open the door and sit down beside him. When he starts the car, Pantera blasts out from the speakers. He grins at me and winks, turning it up even though it's loud already. Clearly he's not in the mood for small talk. He pulls out of the lot, turning in the opposite direction from my house. It's when we're on the main road that he reaches over with his right hand to feel up my thigh. My heart jumps to my throat. I put all of my effort into not getting hard yet, which is a big production considering that just thinking about him is enough to turn me on. I peek at him out of the corner of my eye and he's faintly smiling, looking all innocent, keeping his gaze on the road.

His fingertips slide higher and tease the inside of my leg, which has me swallowing and tensing up. My pants tighten just slightly, and his smirk widens. I frown, but I know it's no defense against his touch. He pulls away when we turn down a side street, leaving me thankful he stopped teasing me, but secretly missing his skin on my jeans.

The thick guitar over the speakers resonates through the car. It's only been about two songs before he pulls into a parking space beneath a tall, looming apartment complex. Then, he pulls the key out of the ignition, which creates a sudden silence as the radio turns off. I wish I could say he wastes no time getting out of the car to pull me inside, but he gives me this look—this fucking look that lets me know he thinks I'm eager. And I am, but I curse myself for being so obvious. He loves that I want him so badly. He gets off on being this sexy, desired man. It's not enough to put me off of him, but it's enough to make me want to spite him.

I realize I'm staring and blush, wanting desperately to get out of the car, but unwilling to be the first. I turn my gaze into a challenging one and he likes this, grinning and opening his door. Finally, I can follow suit. I trail behind him up four flights of stairs until we reach his door. Then, he pushes me inside. Mike lives in a pretty nice flat. Better than mine, and certainly better than Jaime's. I would be looking around, but that's not exactly my biggest concern at the moment.

Mike shoves me up against the door, roughly attaching our lips and evoking a grunt of surprise from me. Instantly, his hands tangle in my hair. I find his waist as he pries my mouth open with his tongue. He kicks off his shoes and nudges my shin with his foot, signaling me to take mine off as well. His keys are still in his hand and I hiss when the jagged metal scrapes against my scalp. Taking the hint, he tosses them to the side.

After pressing his whole form up against me and shooting a little blood to my cock, he pulls away, panting slightly and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Do you want a beer?" he asks me. "I want a beer."

I stare at him in disbelief while he slips into the kitchen. Really, I have no choice but to follow; I'm not going to stand by the door the whole night. The kitchen is messy with dishes stacked high in the sink, but it's not like I give a fuck about that. The only thing I care about is the fact that he turned me on and then decided beer was more important than me.

He opens the fridge and grins. "Don't look so grumpy, princess." He tosses me a can. "I'm still going to fuck you."

My eyes widen, but I'm not sure why I'm surprised. Mike knows what he wants. I shouldn't be surprised by anything he says.

He pops the top off of his own drink and takes a massive swig. Then, he gestures to my can.

"Drink it," he commands me. "I didn't invite you here so that you could stare at me in my kitchen."

I avert my eyes and peer at the label. Bud Light. "I thought you'd have better taste in beer," I remark.

"Didn't know you were a beer snob," he scoffs playfully. I grin and hold my hands up in defense.

"Hey, I'm a bartender. I know what's good."

He grins at me, and I drink my beer, even though it's this god-awful brand. He finishes his off quickly, and I follow suit before he leads me down the hall. I count four doors; this place is definitely bigger than what Mike needs. Maybe he has a roommate. Hopefully they're not home; I'm not much of an exhibitionist.

Pushing me into the last room, he closes the door behind him. His bedroom reeks of tobacco and weed. I note a bunch of drumsticks scattered on top of his dresser, and I'm about to ask him if he plays, but the hungry expression on his face shuts me up.

Mike shoves me down on his bed and I land on my back, bouncing slightly. He wastes no time climbing on top of me. My dick is hardening already, and I can feel his slight bulge against me as he presses our mouths together. Our tongues tangle, and I don't even try to be the dominant one, since it was obvious from the moment I met him that he's the one in charge. For that reason, I essentially go down without a fight and let him explore my mouth. He's straddling my hips with his hands on either side of my head. He slides them down to my shoulders and runs his fingers up and down my arms, making me shiver. I grab his hips while he makes a slight sound in the back of his throat. That has my heart beating wildly and I squeeze his bony ass before running my hands up the back of his shirt.

He pulls back then, lifting his shirt over his head and tossing it on the floor. I get a nice view of his smooth, tattooed torso, but I can't admire him for long because he's reaching for the hem of my shirt and I have to sit up so that he can get it off. Once it's gone, he slams me back down and presses his chest up against mine, nibbling behind my ear. His ragged breaths are all I can hear while he grinds his hips down, making us both harder. I grip the skin on his waist, unable to help digging my nails in when he sucks a sweet spot on my neck. I manage to hold back a moan. I cup my hands around his ass, helping him grind on top of me. I love how his torso feels against mine; how his tongue feels on my neck. And I especially love the friction when his cock rubs mine through our jeans. When his mouth reaches the stretch of skin at the base of my neck by my shoulder, he sucks a hickey and grips my waist.

My hands find their way to Mike's button, and he smirks. Of course, he wanted to see how long I would last before getting his pants off. I don't care, though, too overcome with lust to stop myself from popping the button and sliding the zipper down. As I begin to pull his pants off his legs, I feel his hard cock pressing harder up against me with the removal of a barrier.

He kicks his pants and socks off then. I find that his legs are fucking skinny, which I already knew, but more so unclothed. Apparently, he doesn't want to be the only one pantsless, because he sits up and perches on my thighs, reaching for my zipper. I gasp when his hand brushes my bulge, and the most smug, satisfied look crosses his face. He probably realizes that he could get me off with little to no effort and I'd be satisfied. I know he won't do that; I know he'll tease me and won't let me come until he says so. But if he wanted to, he could stroke me a few times and I'd blow my load.

Soon, we're both in nothing but our boxers, me pressed down on the mattress and Mike moving on top of me. He nips at my collarbone with his teeth and I moan, clenching his ass. He doesn't have much to feel, but when I do it, he moves his hips, and that's just what I need.

Mike drags his lips all the way down my torso, crawling between my legs and kissing down my happy trail. The closer he gets to my dick, the faster I want him to go—he's kissing so slowly, smirking just slightly and curling his fingers around the elastic of my boxers. I buck my hips up a little to tell him to hurry up, and he lets out this low chuckle in the back of his throat.

Mike wants me to say something. He wants me to beg him to suck me, but I won't give him that satisfaction. Instead, I grab him by the hair and push his head down. This makes him chuckle again, but he pulls my boxers off, shifting so that he can remove them and throw them to the side. It's a little nerve-wracking, being the first one fully unclothed. I know he's sizing me up now; judging how well I'd fuck based on the size of my dick. It makes me uneasy, but it doesn't matter anyway because I'm obviously a bottom with him.

Just when I think he's about to wrap his lips around me, he spits on his hand and strokes me from base to tip. I can't complain at the contact; in fact, I let out a ragged sigh in pleasure. But when he climbs back up so his head is by mine, I furrow my eyebrows. I really thought he was going to suck me.

"No head tonight, princess," he breathes in my ear while he swipes his thumb over my tip. That has me bucking into his hand, and he smirks. "I bet this feels just as good as head, though, doesn't it? Admit it. I'm the fucking best."

"You're an asshole," I gasp out as he rubs down the base of my cock. For too fucking long, he avoids the head, teasing just before he gets to the sensitive part and then pulling back to the base. It fucking hurts how desperate he has me. I find myself whimpering when he gets close to the tip. I can't even stop myself from throwing my hips up and down. And then, without warning, he slides his loose fist over the whole thing and I groan in satisfaction. But just as suddenly as it came, he pulls away completely and puts both hands on my waist as he grinds on my hips.

It's not fair that he still has underwear on, so I push it down and he kicks it off. And just like that, we're both naked. My breathing picks up in excitement while he rolls his hips up and down, rubbing our cocks together. He fixes his lips to the opposite side of my neck he's been sucking and gets to work. In response, I hold his ass and help him grind.

After only a moment, he pulls back and looks at me, eyes filled to the brim with want. His lips are swollen from his mouthwork, and he has a light sheen of sweat plastering a few strands of hair to his forehead. His pupils are blown when he climbs off of me to reach into the bedside drawer.

"On your stomach," he commands while he struggles with the condom wrapper.

"What? No!" I protest. I hate being fucked from behind. It's impossible to see anything.

He growls, "Now!" and I flip him off, but obey. I figure it's best to do what he says considering he could call the deal off at any time and that would be bad news for me. So I'm face down on the bed, my dick painfully caught between my stomach and the mattress when I hear him pop off the cap of the lube. He straddles the back of my thighs and pulls my ass cheeks apart.

I hiss at the cold substance that enters me suddenly, and I'm silenced by a pair of sloppy lips that meet mine. Soon, I'm used to it and start to revel in the feeling of having something inside me.

"Damn," Mike grunts. "You're fucking tight. How long has it been?"

"Too long," I mumble when he pushes his finger deeper. He doesn't ask me if I'm ready for two, simply adding a second without warning. I gasp when he pushes on that bundle of nerves, and although I can't see him, I know he's smirking. He's holding my waist with his left hand and fingering me with his right. And when he pulls out, I can't stop a whine from falling out of my mouth.

"Do you need three?" he asks me.

"No, just put it in," I growl. He chuckles, probably laughing at how much I need this, but says nothing. He plants his lips at the base of my neck and kisses sloppily, his hands holding my waist as he grinds upwards a few times. Then, he holds himself up and lines up at my entrance.

When Mike pushes inside me, my eyes snap open. I had forgotten how fucking good it feels, especially when he pushes in deep enough to tease my prostate.

He breathes out, "Ah, fuck yeah," and rests his hands on the bed while he pushes in and out slowly a few times. Because I'm on my back, I can't hold onto him, so I clench the sheets into my fists and let him have control.

Mike thrusts hard inside me, making me bounce up and down on the springy mattress. His breathing has definitely picked up by now. With one thrust, he hits my prostate dead-on and I let out a loud groan.

"Right there," I plead. He breathes harder and obeys, making me throb with pleasure. All I can think is a consistent 'fuck yeah, fuck yeah' while he pounds me, almost definitely bruising my hips.

I feel my orgasm creeping up on me, and I tell him I'm close. In response, he pulls out almost all the way.

"No you're not," he huffs into my ear, barely pushing in a couple of inches. I nearly scream in protest. I was so fucking close, and he has to tease me now? He must see my frustrated expression pushed up against the pillow, because he snickers and keeps thrusting lightly.

"Come on, Mike," I groan. "Fuck me."

"I am fucking you," he responds, amused.

"You call this fucking?"

He leans into my ear and murmurs, "You're a tramp." But all this does is make me shiver and want him inside me more.

Finally, he pushes all the way in, and I moan when his cock touches my prostate. The brief absence made me crave the contact even more, so I desperately throw my hips up a few times. Finally, he moans, and I know he'll be getting close soon.

Mike doesn't even bother supporting himself anymore, his chest pressed up against my back. Because we're both covered in a thin layer of sweat, his skin slides easily against mine. I can tell exactly which movements make him feel good. His mouth is right by my ear, and when he rolls his hips in the right way, he lets out tiny gasps.

"Close," I pant when I feel the returning orgasm accumulating in the pit of my stomach. "Touch me, Mike."

He hums and slips a hand beneath me to stroke my cock. Though his hips are moving fast, his hand is going slow, and that helps me hold on a little longer. But my peak is getting closer, and he keeps hitting my prostate, and I need him to keep going.

Suddenly, he stills inside me and lets out a loud, heavy groan. I know he's coming, but I say, "Don't you dare fucking stop."

After a moment, he pounds into me hard a few times and I reach my peak, the best feeling in the world assaulting my whole body and I come on his sheets with a moan.

"Fuck, Mike," I sigh as the pleasure dies down slowly. He catches his breath before pulling out and rolling off of me.

"Hey, Tony?" he says, breathing heavily.

I respond, "Yeah?"

He takes a few inhales and then grins. "Two-hundred-forty-five bucks."

I laugh and roll to the right side of the bed, letting my eyes flutter closed while I regain control of my breathing. Having sex with a man is fucking _fun_. I can't believe Jaime's not into dudes; with how I'm feeling now, I want to get fucked every day for the rest of my life. While I reflect on what I just did, I let my head hang over the side of the bed.

And then something catches my eye.

I pick up the pink thong and frown.

"Mike?" I ask. "Whose is this?"


	12. Chapter 12

When Mike sees the lacy pair of underwear I'm holding, he curses, and then grins nervously.

"Would you believe me if I said those were for you?"

I stare at him to let him know he's not funny. He sighs.

"Fine. It's my girlfriend's."

I nod slowly. "You have a girlfriend."

"Yeah."

"So you just cheated on her."

"Yeah."

"And you didn't even think twice about it."

"That's not true," he defends. "I wasn't going to do it."

"But you did."

"Well, it's your fault for getting drunk and putting your hands all over me," he snaps.

"If I had fucking known you weren't single, I would've stayed away," I growl in response. I stand up then, not in the mood for arguing with my dick out. As I pull on my boxers, he stands up too.

"Oh, come on. It's not like I love her."

"You really think that makes a difference?" I laugh, grabbing my pants.

"Why are you getting dressed? Are you trying to walk out?"

I smile sarcastically. "Yeah, kinda."

He stands in front of the door and folds his arms, blocking my only exit. What an asshole! If he thinks he can make me stay here after finding out what I just found out, he's sadly mistaken. It's not like I thought he and I were going to be exclusive, but I'm not going to aid him in cheating.

"Put the five bucks back on my debt if you have to," I say. "But I'm not going to have sex with you again." I grab my shirt and make a move to leave, but he just shoves me back.

"If you walk out on our deal, I'll tell Austin you stole from me."

My eyes widen. "You can't do that!"

"Oh, I damn well can, princess," he chuckles, eyes dark. "Because you did. You stole from me. And if you're not willing to reimburse me somehow, I'll have no problem fucking you over to get what I need."

It's then, while he stares at me, that I realize how cold Mike is. It seems that to him, life is about sex, drugs, and money. That's how a lot of people in this scene operate, but I thought he might be different. He apologized to me, after all. And now here he is, warning me—no, _threatening_ me—that he'll get me fucked if I don't listen to him.

I guess he sees that I'm figuring him out, because his expression softens.

"I didn't mean it like that," he assures me. "I just meant…well, you know. Money is tight. I've got to pay the bills too. And if I can't, then at least I'm getting a good fuck out of it."

He looks at me with these huge puppy-dog eyes, and I feel my defenses crumbling. Really, I don't know what to think. Is he a sociopath, or is he bipolar?

I guess he realizes he's still naked then, because he grabs his boxers from the ground and puts them on. Instead of moving back to the door, he steps toward me.

"Tony…." He reaches a hand up to my face. I let him, not because I want it there, but because…well, okay. I want it there. "Look, baby. Krista means nothing to me. It's casual. I was thinking of breaking up with her anyway."

I know he calls me 'baby' to get a reaction; to soften me up. I know he doesn't mean it how I want him to. My heart flutters anyway.

I swallow, picking my words carefully. "So she means nothing to you?"

"Yeah." He puts his other hand up to my face and now he's cupping both cheeks. He nods earnestly. "Nothing."

"And what do you mean to her?"

It takes him a second before he says, "I don't know. Nothing." He chews his lip, saying 'nothing' again to assure me.

"You're not very convincing," I tell him flatly.

He defends, "She knows it's casual. I only got with her for the sex, and we're together so she can show me off and brag that she has a boyfriend." He takes a step closer, and our foreheads are nearly touching. "Come on, Tony. I know you want me to fuck you again."

He's staring right at my eyes, our chests coming dangerously close to touching with every inhale. With how he's looking at me, I want to give in right then and there, but I have to stay composed.

"Mike," I hum. "I can't do this if you're not planning on breaking up with her."

"I am," he swears. "I will. Not right away, but eventually."

"When's eventually?"

He chuckles, and I feel him shake with his hands on my face. He chooses that moment to step away and put on his pants.

"Why are you so jealous? You know this is just sex, right?"

"God, this isn't about me," I scoff. "I don't give a damn about who you fuck. But I'm pretty sure your girlfriend would."

It's not a lie. Well, it is, but only a small one. I _do_ give a damn about who Mike fucks, but that's only because I don't want him fucking someone better than me and deciding to call it off. It's not like I have feelings for him, right?

Well, maybe that's a lie too, but an even smaller one. It's just a crush. That's why it stings a little— _just a little_ —when he says it's just sex even though I know that's exactly what we are.

"She's not going to find out about this," Mike assures me. "No one will. That's why it doesn't matter when I break up with her."

"You have a point," I admit. If it's casual like he says it is, I'm not fucking anything serious up by sleeping with Mike. And even if she has feelings for him, he already let me know they're unrequited. I have nothing to do with that whether Mike and I have sex or not.

"So the deal still stands?" Mike asks as he pulls his t-shirt over his head. I think for a moment before nodding.

"Yeah," I tell him. He grins triumphantly.

"Good." He fumbles around in his dresser before pulling out a pack of cigarettes. "You know," he says, sticking one in his mouth and pocketing the rest. "If we fuck forty-nine more times, you won't have to pay me anything."

I laugh as he lights the cancer stick, taking a massive drag and holding it in for several seconds.

"That's a little ambitious," I tell him as he breathes out. He chuckles a bit, and takes a smaller huff.

"Put your shirt on. I'll take you home."

I hide my frown while I reach for my shirt where I dropped it on the ground in the middle of our argument. I'm a little disappointed he wants me gone so soon. It's not that I thought he'd let me stay; in fact, I'd been preparing for this moment the whole time. But there was a part of me, a tiny one, that wanted him to invite me to spend the night. The thought is absurd, of course. Where would I sleep? Next to him, like his husband? On the couch, like a visiting friend? It's just stupid. Still, it would've been nice to escape my dull real life for a little while longer.

By the time my shirt is on my form, I've recovered. I don't want to stay at Mike's. I'm tired. I want to go home and sleep in my own bed, alone. So I make sure I have my keys before following him outside and hopping into his car while he sucks the life out of his cigarette.

Before he starts up the Volvo, he turns the volume knob down. That way, the music still plays, but it doesn't deafen us when the engine turns on. My directions are the only other sound until we pull up in front of my apartment complex when he puts one hand on my knee, the other lazily holding his dwindling stick of tobacco.

"Hey," he says before I can hop out, looking at me unwaveringly. "I'm sorry I got mean back there. I was just pissed off."

For reasons even I'm not sure of, I pull my knee away. "It's okay. I guess I must be a pretty good fuck." I say this jokingly, and he smirks.

"Don't get cocky, now. That's my job."

I just laugh. It's too late to blush around Mike anymore. The dude has been inside my ass; there's not much he can say to embarrass me at this point.

"Friday," he says. "Let's go again. Does that work?"

I nod as he puts his free hand back on the wheel.

"Cool. My place, same time, same story. Now get the hell out of my car."

He winks at me as I leave, pinching my ass before I shut the door and he drives off.

So is Mike a sociopath or bipolar?

Maybe a little of both.

* * *

 

The universe must be on my side on Tuesday, because Oli tells me he can't do a whole portrait for free.

He, Jaime, and I agree that Jaime's name will settle the bet just fine. I'm still reluctant to get just that on my skin, and Jaime's reluctant to let me get off that easily. But this is the only way it'll get done without paying Oliver.

Right now, I'm my back on Oli's kitchen table while he drills 'Jaime Alberto Preciado' into my inner thigh. That, I've found, is an extremely painful place to get inked, but I'm certainly not putting his name somewhere visible like my arm. People would think I loved the guy or something.

Jaime himself is sitting in a plastic chair, scratching Oli's dog behind the ears. Oskar yapped at me to all hell when we came in, but for some reason, liked Jaime instantly. It must be because they're both annoying brown creatures. Oskar probably thought Jaime was his brother.

Admittedly, I'm a little bitter toward my best friend at the moment. I have no right. I lost the bet in every way. Mike even fucked me, although Jaime doesn't know about that part. That fact makes it a little easier to grumble and complain. I can act like all I got was a stupid apology and a little bit of flirting. And hell, I'm getting Jaime's fucking name on my skin, so it's not like I have no grounds to bitch.

"So tell me about this bet," says Oli, allowing me to concentrate on something besides the raw wound splitting open on my leg. Jaime jumps at the chance to boast about our wager.

"Oh man, Oli," he grins, shaking his head proudly. "So it all started with Mike, before he started working at the club. Tony said he wanted to fuck a guy and Mike overheard, so they had this moment. Mike was being all flirty, and Tony was being all schoolgirl." I groan at his description, but he's far from done. "And then awhile later, _after_ Mike got the job, they were in the bathroom…." Jaime trails off and looks at me. "Tone, can I tell him about the coke?"

I grumble, "Well, you have to now," with Oliver's intrigued expression.

Jaime continues, "So they were in the bathroom, and they were talking for a little bit, and then Mike made a move on Tony. But this asshole—" He points to me. "—chickened out of kissing him, and was like, 'Hey, give me some drugs.' And it's hilarious, because Tony probably hasn't even done _weed_ since a year ago. And he didn't want just a little bit of stuff, no. Tony decided to buy a fucking eight ball. And because he's such a goody-two-shoes, he gave it to me. And it was really good coke. Which is irrelevant, but I just thought I'd point that out."

Oli chuckles slightly and his machine moves over an especially sensitive patch of skin, so I do my best not to move. If I'm getting this name on me forever, I at least want it to look good, despite the bouts of pain I'm suffering through.

Jaime persists, "Anyway, to make a long story short, Mike and Tony did not kiss that night. And then someone stole all of Tony's money—like, _all_ of it. So Tony was like, 'shit,' because he couldn't pay Mike back. And when Mike found out about it, he got all pissed and wouldn't let Tony explain what happened, and me being the good friend that I am, _I_ decided to talk to Mike. And by 'talk,' I mean 'yell,' because no one fucks with my little Tone Bone." He looks at me endearingly (he's joking, of course), and I just flip him off and grin.

"And here's where it gets interesting," Jaime adds. "While I was yelling at Mike, he basically said that I had the hots for Tony. Totally true, obviously—" He winks at me. "—but more importantly, Mike had the hots for Tony. So I came up with a brilliant plan to get back at him for being a bitch. Tell him what the plan was, Tony," Jaime prods me. I sigh.

"Jaime thought that if we danced together, Mike would get jealous and apologize."

"Yeah, and I was fucking right," Jaime throws in. "But Tone didn't want to dance with me because he's a little twat, so I bet him five hundred dollars that my plan would work. Except Tony's broke, so we said that if he lost, he'd get a tattoo of my face."

Oli nods. "So Tony lost."

"You're damn right he did," Jaime says. "Mike was like, 'Hey, Tony, I'm sorry. Let's get coffee.' And Tony was like, 'Okay, you sexy beast.' And then they went out for their coffee date—"

"It wasn't a date," I protest.

"—And it was so good that Mike made Tony buy him a drink and they got drunk together and my sources say they kissed."

I pale slightly. "We didn't kiss, Jaime. Jonny is a liar." Oli is staring at me calculatingly. He saw how Mike and I were all over each other that night. I glance at him sheepishly, and he nods to let me know my secret is safe. Jaime doesn't notice, thank god.

"If you didn't kiss, then what happened?" Jaime retorts. I roll my eyes.

"I told you, you bitch, that he made me admit that I wanted him and then he laughed at me."

"In a flirty sort of way, though, right?"

I say flatly, "We're not going to fuck, Himes." It's a blatant lie, and I have to hide my grin from both of them. Mike and I are scheduled to fuck in three days.

The front door opens then, and the conversation is over. I'm thankful for that. A brunette man of average build strolls in, jingling his keys and whistling. Despite a sprinkling of stubble across his chin, he looks young. Really young. Like, just-out-of-high-school young. Oli's machine ceases buzzing. He looks up, cracking his neck, and smiles.

"Hey, sexy," Oli says, pausing his work but not putting anything down. The man, Josh, I'm assuming, grins and walks over. He pecks Oli's lips and ruffles his hair.

"Afternoon, babe. Who's this?" he asks, smiling and looking at Jaime and me while Oskar scuttles over to greet him.

"This is Jaime and Tony," Oli tells him. "Guys, this is Josh, my slave."

"Oh, come on, Oliver. _You're_ the slave. I sit around all day while you compliment me."

"No, 'cause I make the dough and you clean the house."

"That makes me the housewife, then."

They grin at each other and the buzzing of the machine resumes. I hold my breath until the needle is back on my skin, and then let it out with the first few throbs of pain. It's kind of funny how a stranger walked in and found his boyfriend leaning over me while I have no jeans on, but that must be a frequent occurrence for someone dating a tattoo artist.

Josh says apologetically, "I'd love to stay and chat, but I've got a song to work on." As he walks deeper into the house he calls over his shoulder, "It was nice meeting you guys!"

"He's cute," Jaime says to Oli as a faint clinking on a keyboard starts up. Oliver grins.

"I'll let it slide that you said that 'cause you're straight. Tony, I don't want to hear you saying anything about how sexy Josh is."

I laugh lightly. "Alright." A dim voice echoes through the house; soft, but stable. "He's good," I note.

Oli sighs. "Yeah, he wants to move back to B.C. to start a band with his mates Matt and Chris." Lower, he says, "But I'll be damned if we move. Canada was a horrible place for me, and anyway, I've got the best clientele here. Not to mention my well-paying job at the bar. I might have Lee, Matt, and Vegan jam with him if it comes down to that."

Jaime and Oli talk about their relationships for awhile, and then finally, Oli puts down the machine and grabs some paper towels and rubbing alcohol.

"You're done," he tells me, wiping away the stray ink. "Sat like a champ, you did."

"I've had practice," I shrug. Oli chuckles.

"Yeah, I can see that. I won't lie to you, Tony; this thing will be a bitch for about a week because of where you put it. So just be careful about knocking it, will you?"

I assure Oli that I'll go through all of the aftercare shit before he takes a photograph and then bandages it up.

"Let me know how it heals," he calls as Jaime and I leave. We bid him goodbye, and that's the end of how I got my best friend's name engraved into my skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously, Oli and Josh aren't British in this. It would be stupid to have a random horde of Brits who are all friends in San Diego.


	13. Chapter 13

Fucking with a fresh tattoo, as I've said before, is no fun. On Friday, Mike brings me home as promised, and we sleep together. No surprise. What Mike doesn't know is that I now have Jaime's name on the inside of my thigh. And he doesn't notice the whole time, so even though it's sore like a bitch, I don't complain.

When he drives me home, he announces that he wants to try it at my place next time. I'm a little surprised, but I tell him that's fine and get out of the car.

So that's why on Sunday, Mike's pile-driving me from behind on my bed, in my apartment.

"Right there, Mike," I cry out as he changes angles, slamming upwards on my sweet spot. He grunts and pushes inside me harder, making me moan like a whore against the pillow. He's quietly panting in my ear and holding onto my shoulders when he hits me just right and I feel myself teetering closer to the edge.

"Going to come," I mumble; quietly, because I just want to focus on the feeling. This time, instead of pulling out to tease me, Mike slams in harder. A few quick thrusts and he makes me a writhing mess on the sheets while I blow my load, breathless. Just as I'm coming down, Mike stills inside me and groans right in my ear. His nails dig into my skin until he relaxes, then rolls off of me.

"God," he sighs. "I really needed that."

I chuckle, still catching my breath. "We fucked literally two days ago."

He rolls his eyes, grinning and slipping the condom off. He ties it and stands, looking for the garbage. Once he tosses it, he stretches and looks at me.

"Do you want me to go home now?" he asks. I peer at his eyes, but can't read his expression. I don't know why he'd want to stay. The last two times we slept together, he drove me home straight after, so it doesn't seem like him to want to stick around. Still, I'd be lying if I said I didn't want him to.

"You don't have to," I tell him, keeping all emotion out of my voice. "But you can."

To show him my indifference, I yawn and reach for my boxers. To my surprise, he stops me.

"Keep those off," he says. I raise my eyebrows.

"Why?"

"Because." He flicks off the light switch and I feel a dip in the bed next to me. "I might want to fuck you in the morning." He says this as if it's the most obvious thing in the world as he throws the blanket over us. He feels around for me in the dark and kisses my neck quickly before pulling away from me completely.

With a hint of amusement in his voice, he says, "Goodnight, princess," and falls silent for the rest of the night. I'm in a small state of shock until Mike's breathing evens out and he starts snoring.

Yeah, I'm surprised that Mike wanted to stay over. I'm not sure why he's doing it. Is it to fuck with me? It must be obvious that I have a bit of a crush on him, and not just in the sexual way. I don't want to be his fucking boyfriend or anything, but I'm sure he knows what he does to me. I wouldn't mind waking up next to him or sharing innocent kisses or listening to music together. But he probably has that effect on everyone.

So yeah, I might like Mike a little too much for not even knowing his last name. But I'm tired, and I'll be damned if I stay awake beating myself up over it when my problems will still be there in the morning. So I roll over onto my side and fall to sleep even with the touchable man mere inches from my skin.

* * *

 

It's nice, waking up to the sight I have in front of me. Only Mike's bottom half is covered by the blanket, his bare chest exposed and his strong arms folded beneath his head. His mouth is open, just slightly, his lip ring askew and surrounded by a smattering of stubble.

I look away, because it's creepy to stare at people while they sleep, and the only reason I'm up at all is that my phone is buzzing on the nightstand.

"Yeah?" I croak into the receiver after answering it, rubbing my tired eyes with my free hand. Mike stirs beside me, but doesn't wake up, only rolling over and sighing in his sleep.

"Perry," booms Austin's strong voice. I sit up then, alert, and look warily at the man beside me. Why is Austin calling me? Did he find out?

"Uh…hello, sir," I say, quietly, so as to not wake Mike up. It would be bad if Austin heard his voice.

"Can you come to my office? I got to talk to you about something."

"Am I in trouble?" I ask before I can stop myself. I wince, but Austin just laughs.

"No, you're not in trouble. Can you be here in ten?"

I want to protest that he should've given me more notice, but I don't. Of course I don't. He's my fucking boss, I'm not stupid.

"Yeah," I say. "I'll be there."

"Cool. See you soon."

"Bye."

He hangs up, and I sigh. What does Austin need to talk to me about on a Monday this early in the morning? After I glance at my clock, I realize it's actually closer to three in the afternoon, but still. I can't help but worry that I've done something and he's found out. He said I'm not in trouble, but I'm still nervous.

I glance at Mike while I dress myself in fresh clothes. Should I wake him up? After spraying on some cheap cologne to mask my sex smell, I decide that, yes, I should. He might be alarmed if he wakes up in my house and I'm not even here.

"Mike," I whisper, shaking his shoulder lightly. He breathes in deeply and cracks one eye open to look at me.

"Hm?"

"Just letting you know I'm going to meet Austin at the club."

He closes his eyes, still mostly asleep, and responds breathily, "Alright. Do you have any cigs?"

"No," I tell him. "I don't smoke."

He sighs and buries his face in the pillow. Clearly, he's not ready to wake up. As I start to leave my room, I peer at him for a moment.

"You can stay if you want," I say. "Or you can leave. It's up to you."

He hums to let me know he heard, and I duck out. If the meeting with Austin goes by quickly, he'll probably still be asleep when I get back. I grab my keys and head out the door. Mike's car is parked next to mine in the lot. Technically, he shouldn't have parked there. It belongs to my neighbor, a tiny Filipino woman who always smells like burnt rice. She doesn't have a car, though, so I figure Mike won't get in trouble.

SDR Records and Instruments is co-owned by Austin and Alan. It's a damn popular place, even to people who have no idea there's a club downstairs. When Austin was seventeen, he started managing. That was 2001, the shop was called San Diego Music, and there was nothing beneath the building besides the earth. In 2004, the owner split off to open up another shop, leaving Austin to independently run SDM. About then, he started making plans for the club. Since he was fifteen, apparently, Austin wanted to own a secret bar that plays good music and sells drugs and alcohol. Not exactly your typical childhood dream, but he must've really wanted it, because in 2006, he got permission from the city to tear down SDM and rebuild it with a massive space beneath it. Of course, he told the government he was turning it into a recording studio and practice space. They told him he was free to do that as long as he could pay for it, and as long as he found a business partner. That's how he found Alan Ashby: barely nineteen years old with an associate's in business and a love of metal. Alan dropped out of college to help Austin run the shop, now renamed SDR, and manage the club. When people ask, they're told SDR stands for San Diego Rocks, but it actually stands for Sex, Drugs, and Rock & Roll; a bit of an inside joke.

When I arrive at the shop, Matt Kean is manning the counter. From what I understand, he, Matt Nicholls, Lee, and Oli moved here from Surrey, B.C. about a year ago. They had hopes of starting a band, but their plans fell through, and they all ended up working for Austin instead.

"Oh, Tony," he says, looking vaguely surprised. "What are you doing here?"

"Meeting with Austin," I explain.

"Ah. I was wondering why he came in." He smiles and looks me up and down before commenting, "You had sex last night."

My eyes widen, and I laugh. "How can you tell?"

"Well, besides the massive hickey on your neck," He points to a bit of skin between two tattoos. "You've got sex hair. And a bit of pep in your step, if you know what I mean."

I feel my cheeks heat up, but I know he's just joking around.

"Yeah, I got fucked hard," I admit. Thankfully, there are no customers around. "I'll see you later, Vegan," I say, hurrying into the stockroom. I faintly hear him mutter something about his name and Matt Nicholls as I shut the door behind me. Then, I enter the other door, walk down the stairs, and unlock the empty club. Turns out, it's not as empty as I thought, because Aaron and Alan are singing along to some Nicki Minaj, laughing their asses off. When he spots me, Alan waves.

"Austin's in his office," he calls, hopping up on the stage and laying down. I thank him, walking past the locked bar and over to the hallway. Austin's door is closed, so I knock.

"Come in," his gruff voice says. I open the door, and he's shirtless, eyeing an unlit cigarette in his hand. When he sees me looking at it questioningly, he explains, "I'm trying to quit. Been having heart problems."

"I'm sorry to hear that, sir," I say.

"Ah, come on," he scoffs. "Call me Austin. You've been here long enough." He throws the tobacco down on his desk and motions to the chair opposite him. "Sit down, Perry."

I obey, a little nervous at the fact that Austin is shirtless. If he found out about Mike, he might give me the fine-print treatment; after all, he did the same to Shay, and Shay didn't even get caught up in a mini drug scandal. But when I look at his calm face, I relax. He's 'Austin' when he's in a good mood, 'sir' when it's questionable, and 'Mr. Carlile' when he's pissed.

Austin opens a folder on his desk and flips through it for a few minutes, letting out a small, surprised grunt when he finds what he's looking for.

"Tony, you haven't had a day off since June fourth of last year."

I chew my lip, unsure of what he wants me to say.

"Uh…what about that day two weeks ago?"

"Ah, that doesn't count," Austin waves me off. "So we have a new policy that I wanted to discuss with you privately. Zack and Rian decided to complain about the fact that they work every night of the year because they have no one to replace them if they needed a night off.

"They were right, of course. You guys aren't slaves. So Alan and I decided that every full-time employee gets fifteen days of paid vacation a year, starting in 2015. That means we'll be hiring a bunch of part-time employees to take over when you need it. I mean, you guys work your asses off. It's time we start treating you a little better."

He splits a grin at me, showing how pleased he is that I've been so dedicated. Really, the reason I work so often is that I have nothing else to do, but I don't have the heart to tell him that.

"So," he continues. "Oliver says he has a friend moving over from the U.K. who has some experience being a waiter. I think his name is…Jackson? No, Jordan. Jordan Fish. Yeah. Anyway, I want you to train Oliver in bartending. That way, on your nights off, Oli will take over the bar and Jordan will be the server. On Oli's nights off, you'll be at the bar like normal, but Jordan will be the server. And of course, most nights, it'll just be you and Oli as usual. Is that fair?"

I nod. "Yes, sir."

"Didn't I tell you to call me Austin?"

"Oh…sorry, Austin."

He laughs, picking up the cigarette and putting it between his teeth, then putting it back down again.

"You're cute, Tony," he tells me, winking. "If Alan didn't already have dibs, I'd be on you like…like, um…fuck, I can't think of a good analogy."

My eyes widen when I hear 'Alan' and 'dibs' in the same sentence. Austin doesn’t detect my surprise, just keeps talking about Jordan. I knew Austin and Alan had a reason for not allowing relations between employees. They probably divided us out between the two of them so they have a list of people they're free to fuck. I'd bet money on Austin having Mike.

"Oh, and Tony," Austin says, interrupting my thoughts. "I want you to train Oli this Sunday. Can you handle that?"

"Yeah," I nod. "Of course."

"Good. So you'll train him, and starting next week, you're on paid vacation for four weeks."

"I…what?"

"Well," Austin says. "You're probably our most dedicated employee. Alan and I want to reward you for that. We decided it would be a good opportunity for Oli to get used to bartending, and for Jordan to get in some experience. It amounts to sixteen days, and you'll get fifteen days next year anyway, so it makes sense. You don't have a problem with that, do you?"

Four weeks of paid vacation? I'd have to be crazy to turn that down. "Of course not, " I tell him, refraining from saying 'sir' because he asked me not to.

"Well, good," Austin grins. "You're encouraged to come in while you're off and just hang out if you want to. You're pretty popular. I think it would be good for business if you mingled."

I scratch the back of my neck sheepishly. "Oh. Well, okay."

"Excellent." He smiles at me, then sighs in defeat at his cigarette and puts it in his mouth, fishing for a lighter. "I really should've stayed away from nicotine as a teenager. Do you smoke?"

"No, sir."

"It's Austin," he reminds me. "And I'm glad to hear that. These things are not worth all the trouble."

"That's what I've heard."

He sits up in his chair. "Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. We're having a Halloween party here. If you come in, don't forget to dress up."

"Okay," I accept.

"I think that's it, then. You can go home now. Thanks for meeting with me on such short notice."

"It's no trouble," I assure him. "See you Thursday."

"You too, Perry."

I stand up and leave just as the smell of tobacco starts to fill up the room. I'm a little nervous passing Alan as I leave the club; after all, he 'has dibs' on me. It's not that I think he'll rape me or anything, it's just that it feels like he has an ownership over me. That was still kind of true before today, but the fact that I know Alan sees me in a sexual way is unsettling. If I had to pick between the two, I would choose Austin, even though he's scary as fuck.

Alan and Aaron are chasing each other around as I leave. I pass Vegan, bidding him goodbye, and get into my car. When I get back to my apartment, Mike's gone. I don't even let myself feel my disappointment.


	14. Chapter 14

"I've decided to close my tab," Jaime announces as I wipe down the counter. Someone puked on it. Fucking classy as shit.

"Hilarious, Jaime," I tell him, rolling my eyes. He pouts at me.

"I'm serious! Why does no one take me seriously?"

"Dude, probably ninety percent of what leaves your mouth are jokes," Oli says from his perch up against the counter. "And you're basically an alcoholic."

"I am not," he protests.

"You just had a beer five minutes ago," I point out. It's the truth, and he has a tally on his tab to prove it.

"That was my last one. I'm not joking around, alright? I want to close my tab. Permanently."

"And why the fuck would you do that?"

"Because alcohol is bad for your liver, _Tony_ ," he says, looking at me as if I'm a drunk, when truthfully, I only drink a few times a week. Maybe that's more than the average, but in a place like this, it's damn mild.

"Besides," Jaime continues. "It wasn't technically my idea."

Oli asks, "Whose idea was it, then?"

"Well, see, last night Zoe was over, and we were talking. Fucking too, but that's irrelevant. She said she wanted to stop drinking because it's unhealthy and addictive and people make stupid decisions while drunk. And I was like, 'But drinking is fun!' And she was like, 'You can drink if you want because I love you and you're the best, sexiest thing I've ever laid eyes on.'"

"I'm sure that was paraphrased," I murmur to Oli, who snickers.

"So then I was like, 'Is there another reason you want to stop drinking?' Because I thought it was weird. You're supposed to party until you're twenty-three, at least."

"How old is Zoe?" Oli asks. I tense up, but Jaime instantly says,

"Just turned twenty-two. Anyway, she explained about the health risks and shit, and what she was saying made a lot of sense. So I decided that I'm going to cut alcohol out of my life, just like she is." He beams and hops up on the counter. I pull him off instantly, and he flips me off, leaning up against it instead.

"Don't tell me you didn't already know how unhealthy alcohol is," I say, pulling some Grey Goose for an approaching customer who looks like he wants his regular.

"Well, of course I knew, Tone Bone. I'm not stupid. But that doesn't change that it _is_ unhealthy. Besides, I want to support Zoe's decisions."

"You're so gay," I sigh, asking Oli to hand me a shot glass.

"What? Not even ten hours ago, I was fucking a pussy. And what were you doing? Probably jacking off to the mental image of Channing Tatum."

"Actually, I was watching Dexter. And Channing Tatum isn't even hot."

"Oh, come on, Tone. Even _I_ know he's hot."

"As an actual homosexual," Oli throws in. "I agree with Tony."

"What?! His abs though!"

"They're obnoxious," I say, and Oli nods in agreement.

Jaime grumbles, "You guys are blind," as I pull out the tab sheet to mark off Tyler's shot of vodka.

"You're serious about closing it, though?" I verify. Jaime nods. "Then come here, Oli. This is a good lesson."

He peeks over my shoulder while I explain how the tab system works. Basically, we have a huge list of names and columns of boxes representing each type of alcohol we sell. All we have to do is keep track of how many drinks each person buys over the week, and they pay off at the end. A couple of people pay in cash, but most use credit and debit cards so that we can charge them automatically. The hard part is keeping inventory; at the end of the night, I have to add up the day's totals and make sure the amount of drinks left matches. Then I have to figure out how much it cost to get the drinks shipped in compared to how much we made off of them. It's stupid, because we always end up with more than enough, but Austin's paranoid. Oli grumbles when he hears about the math he has to do.

I draw a line through Jaime's name and the remaining space after his tallies, explaining that this will tell Alan to leave him off the next printout. Then, I show him what to do if a new person wants to open up a tab, which only happens a few times a month. Finally, that lesson is over.

"I feel sorry for you, bro," Oli says after I show him last week's totals. "I'm not looking forward to this."

"Great salary, though," I point out. He laughs.

"Yeah, I ought not to complain. I'm getting a bit of a bonus for these four weeks."

"How much?" I ask.

"I think Alan said he's going to give me two hundred. I won't get any extra after this, but it's nice that they're giving me money just to work a different job for awhile."

"You guys suck," Jaime complains. "I make minimum wage."

"That's what you get for not going to college, dickhead," I say.

"You didn't go to college either!"

"Yeah, but if I worked as a bartender anywhere else, I wouldn't get paid shit."

He grumbles, "It's still not fair," while Oli asks how we found this place.

I turn to Jaime. "When was it, Himes? Do you remember?"

"Yeah, we were twenty-four. Well, I guess I was still twenty-three, but my birthday was coming up. I had met Vic at the shop, right? I was testing out a bass, and he came up to me because The Vibe was looking for a bass player. I was like, 'Fuck yeah, I want to join your band.' And he was like, 'Yeah, I think we should hire you because you're sexy and you play bass like a god.' But he said he had to talk to his bandmates first. I was totally thinking they'd let me join, you know? And Vic told me about the club downstairs, how it was kind of secret, and he wanted to hang with me there that night. So he bought his shit and left and I met him there later.

"Apparently, they had already found someone else, but I think that was code for 'Kellin is a little bitch and doesn't want a bass player.' So I was bummed out, but then I realized that this place is kind of awesome. The next week, I brought Tony, and he met Shay and Jaxin and became friends with them, and somewhere in the mix of that, Austin decided to hire him. The end."

Oli nods thoughtfully, eyeing some approaching customers. I motion for him to take care of their drinks. He's a little unconfident, but he's not bad.

"What about you, Olive?" Jaime asks. "How did you end up here?"

"I'd rather you not call me Olive," he says.

"Why not?"

"Because it's fucking stupid."

"Fine, pissy," Jaime says defensively. "Just tell me your story."

Once he's done with the customers, he turns around.

"Well, me and my friends moved here from Surrey in November last year. I had just finished my tattoo apprenticeship, and I had done a couple of works on actual skin to put in my portfolio. See, Lee and I had been wanting to form a band for awhile, and it just wasn't taking off in Canada, even after getting Nicholls and Vegan.

"We decided to move to San Diego for whatever reason. It was hard to find work for awhile, probably because we were all so stubborn thinking the band would save us. We played a lot of dingy bars and all that shit. I met Austin in one of them. We got to talking, and he told me about how he runs this place. I guess he thought I should drop in just as a customer, but he gave me his number so I could call if I needed anything. Pretty sure the dick wanted to fuck me. Anyway, I stayed away for awhile since I was so focused on the band. Then, I met Josh."

"Ah, your boy-toy," says Jaime. Oli laughs.

"Yeah, my boy-toy. His friend, Taylor, came in for his first tattoo, and Josh was there for moral support. Long story short, Josh and I ended up seeing each other. Eventually, we moved in together, but the problem was that neither of us had a decent job. For some reason, I thought it'd be good to call Austin and ask if he was hiring. I was pretty desperate, so he let me come in for an interview. That's basically the end of it." He shrugs and picks at a scab on the back of his hand.

"That's cool," Jaime says. "Is your band still around?"

"No, not really. We've all been kind of busy."

"Ah. That's too bad. Tony and I used to be in a band, but it was awful."

I groan, "Oh, god, Jaime. Don't talk about that."

"What's the matter?" Oli laughs.

"It was just really, really bad. The singer was such a prick," says Jaime. "Fuck, and the _drums_. It was terrible." He shakes his head. "We left because Geoff, the singer, thought he was a hot shot with his songwriting and tried to make up all of Tony's parts for him. Basically, it sounded like shit, and because Tony couldn't stand up for himself, I had to tell him off. It was just…." He shudders, and we chuckle. Geoff _was_ a massive douchebag. Thankfully, it's been four years since we've even seen him.

Yesterday, Oli trained Jordan, and today is his first official day of work. He's British, so I'm not sure how he met Oli, but they're pretty good friends. He looks exhausted when he comes down the stairs carrying some empty shot glasses and lets out a loud groan as he sets them on the counter. Oli grins at him, amused.

Jordan says, "They just don't stop, do they? Americans are fucking crazy."

"Oh, come on," Oli says. "We were just like them two years ago. You only think it's crazy because you're their bitch now."

"Ugh. If you're deciding between a restaurant job and a bar job, choose the fucking restaurant." Melodramatically, he rests his head on the counter. "I need six shots of Jack. And it was…fuck, not Jonny…Max! Put it on Max's tab."

I gesture with my head to the tab sheet on the counter so Oli can take care of that while I grab some fresh shot glasses and the whiskey.

"It's almost two o'clock," I say sympathetically to Jordan as I slide him the glasses, which he puts on his serving tray.

"Can't get here fast enough," he grumbles. "But I'm working twenty days, so I get a nice fat check of two thousand bucks when I'm done. Plus the tips are mad good."

Jaime's jaw drops upon hearing how much Jordan will be making, but I tune out his complaints. It's nothing I haven't heard before. He leaves soon after Jordan does to talk to Jack, leaving me and Oli alone to start to get things put away. By 2:30, the night is seriously dying down. It was kind of exhausting training Oli, but it's Sunday, and we have to calculate a couple of things before we can go home. Maybe I'm being a little bit of a dick with my trainer power, but I force Oli to do all the math and just watch to make sure he does it right. In my defense, he's going to have to do it on his own for a few weeks anyway, so it's good for him to learn now.

Nobody else buys any drinks that night, and the instant the clock turns to three, we lock up and carry all the paperwork to Alan's office.

"How did it go, boys?" Alan asks absently. We assure him it went well and he nods. "Sykes, I'll be checking in on you quite a few times on Thursday in case you forget anything. Perry, I'd like you to keep your phone on so he can ask you about shit. Sound good?"

We both agree and he sends us off after flipping through the papers.

"Damn," says Oli once we leave. "I'm a bit scared. There's lots to do."

"You'll be fine," I assure him. "Do you have my number?"

He pulls out his phone and flips through some contacts, then says, "Nope," and hands it to me. I enter my number and hand it back.

"Thanks," he says, slipping it back into his pocket.

Suddenly, an arm slings over my shoulders, and I look up to see Mike standing there. I hadn't really thought about him much this week, so it's a little surprising to see him—especially considering he decided it was acceptable to put his arm around me in the middle of the club.

"Hey, guys," he says nonchalantly. "Oli, could I talk to Tony for a minute?"

Oli nods, looking at us suspiciously. "Yeah, I'm going to go home. See you."

Once he's gone, Mike pulls back his arm.

"It's been a week. I think it's time for you to come back to my place."

"I'm really tired," I say apologetically. It's the truth; all I want to do is go home and sleep, as much fun as it is getting fucked by Mike.

"That's a shit excuse," he protests.

"It's not an excuse. How about tomorrow?"

"Nah, I can't tomorrow." He sighs and puts on a fake pout. "Come on. Let me bring you back to my place. We both have needs, right?"

"I'm sorry," I tell him. "I'm seriously exhausted. It probably wouldn't even be a good fuck. I'd fall asleep the second I even saw a bed."

"How about I fuck you while you sleep?"

I laugh. "That's fucked up."

"Oh, come on. Don’t act like you don't love it." He grins, and I roll my eyes.

"I'm going home."

He groans, "Fine. How about when you get off work on Thursday?"

"Oh, uh, actually…I'm not working for the next four weeks."

"Really? Why not?"

"Because Austin loves me," I say. "He wanted to reward me for being dedicated or some shit. And Oli needed some bartending training, so it was a good time for him to work."

"Well, this sucks," he grumbles.

I assure him, "I'll still come in sometimes to hang out. And you have my number anyway, right?"

"Yeah," he sighs. "Be here Thursday. Deal?"

"Probably. See you soon."

"See you _Thursday_ ," he says, looking at me pointedly. He pinches my ass as I leave, making me blush and look around to make sure no one saw. From the looks of it, we're in the clear.

This is the first time I can think of that Mike has acted like he needs something, and it's kind of unsettling. It's a little dangerous, even; I might start to think that Mike actually wants me around, and I'll start to feel things I shouldn't. I guess it's a little too late for that, but I don't want to be forced to get my hopes up. I know Mike's a complete casanova, and if he were to get attached to anyone, it'd be his fucking girlfriend.

It's the truth that I'm damn tired, so once I get home, it doesn't take long for me to fall asleep, just like it doesn't take long for me to start wishing for things I shouldn't.

I guess Jaime's right. I'm pretty gay.


	15. Chapter 15

I really was going to show up on Thursday, because I was starting to get cravings, but it completely slipped my mind. I ended up watching some awful horror movie on TV and sleeping. Only when it was too late did I realize I was fucking horny and I was supposed to go to the club.

Friday is Halloween, and the Halloween party. Jaime texts me at seven telling me to come to the club to hang out. He tells me to wear a costume, but 'nothing too preteen.' I end up going as preteen as it gets—a green shirt and a red mask over my eyes. I'm Raphael, the ninja turtle, because he's fucking badass. Also, I didn't have enough time to get a real costume, so I had to make do with what I had.

When I get there, I find Jaime in a white suit and sunglasses. I ask him what he is, and he gets all offended.

"I'm Kanye! You fucking idiot."

"How was I supposed to know that?" I defend.

He mutters, "At least I'm not a crime-fighting turtle."

He has Zoe at his side this time. She's dressed up in black clothes, circular sunglasses, and a top hat. Her hair is wild and frizzy.

"You're Slash, right?" I ask, and she nods, grinning. "Jaime doesn't deserve you," I say, looking at Jaime teasingly. He scoffs dramatically.

I hang out with them for awhile, but it's not all that fun when I'm going on my third shot of vodka and they're not drinking at all. I had gotten there late, so it's around midnight when The Vibe finishes off their set that I start looking for Jack. I haven't talked to him in awhile, and I want to ask about him and Alex. I spot him on the balcony, and I'm about to go upstairs when a hand grabs my wrist.

"You skipped out on me yesterday," Mike hisses in my ear. I don't have time to respond before he pulls me into the bathroom.

"I forgot," I say sheepishly as he glares at me. He's wearing a generic outfit with a lit cigarette and a fur cape that I'm pretty sure is actually a blanket.

"Austin made me dress up," he says when he sees me looking. He takes a drag and blows it right in my face. I hold in a cough. "Anyway, I can't fucking believe you blew me off."

"I'm sorry, it just slipped my mind. Tonight works, though, right?"

He presses his lips into a flat line, making me want to step forward and kiss him to soften them up. "I can't take you home today, Raphael," he tells me. "But I'll be damned if I'm not getting my fuck."

I grin slightly that he not only recognized that I'm a ninja turtle, but correctly identified which one. Then, I frown.

"Where do you expect to fuck me?" I ask. We're standing in an empty bathroom with the bass pounding in our chests.

"Here," he shrugs.

"Here?"

"Yeah. Here and now."

"That's…we can't do that."

He rolls his eyes. "It's been twelve days, Tony. I'd fuck you right in front of Austin's eyes."

I'm about to protest, but he steps forward and captures my lips suddenly, snaking an arm around the small of my back and making my heart skip a beat. He nips my bottom lip and then my neck before pulling away and dragging me to the biggest stall on the end.

"Have you had anything to drink?" he asks me in a low voice, pressing me up against the wall with one hand. He takes one more drag of his cigarette with the other, then tosses it to the ground and stubs it out with his shoe. I nod, fixated on his lips.

"Couple of shots."

"Of what?"

"Vodka."

He hums. "Okay. Just make sure you're quiet. I don't want to get caught."

"I'm not drunk," I allege. "Just buzzed."

"Well, if you insist. But that's enough talking for now."

To reinforce his point, he kisses my lips quickly before moving to my neck. After a moment, he rolls his form against mine and keeps it there. While I hold onto his back, he squeezes my waist, eliciting a quickened heart rate on my part. Whether it's been only twelve days or _twelve whole fucking days_ , I've really missed his touch. I don't even know if it's his touch in particular, but we fucked a few times with only a couple of days in between, and then there was a little drought. That's why I start to get hard when he barely grazes the base of my neck with his teeth. Luckily, I'm not the only one. I can feel his bulge pressing up against me, the pressure increasing with every moment. I drag my fingers down his back so that I can hold his hips, and I feel him hum against my neck.

That's when he steps away and sheds his cape, shrugging his shirt right after. As he cracks his neck, I grin.

"That costume kind of suits you," I tell him. He silences me with a look, but smiles after a moment. It's true. He is kind of a pimp.

"This is going to have to be quick," he says apologetically, not bothering with the rest of his clothing, but reaching for the hem of my shirt and helping it over my head. Once it's off, he trails one finger down my chest, smiling slightly, and steps forward. He sucks on my neck as he rolls into me a few times, trying to get us hard enough. My breath catches in my throat when he brushes up against me.

By now, my jeans aren't feeling too comfortable. I reach down and palm his bulge, trying to speed things up. He responds by reaching for my zipper. My pants are halfway down my thighs before I can even react. Then, he's grinding on me again, and I slide down the zipper on his pants.

Mike sucks a hickey on my neck before pulling back, flipping me around, and slamming me up against the wall. I let out a grunt of surprise; he clamps a hand over my mouth and whispers in my ear, "Quiet, Raphael."

As he grinds his hips into me I mutter, "Better than princess," and he puts his hand over my mouth again.

Now he's hard—really hard. I guess he's not used to waiting so long for sex. Couldn't he just fuck his girlfriend, though? I don't think he's broken up with her yet. I don't have time to wonder, because he pulls my boxers down with one hand and slips a finger into my mouth with the other.

"No lube," he says quietly. "So, suck." My stomach lurches a little in anticipation hearing that. I've never done it without lube before, so this should be interesting. As I coat his finger with saliva, he kneads my ass and rocks into me. My cock is craving attention, but I know he'll get pissed if I speak, so I wait it out for the time being. Once his finger is wet enough, he pulls it back and slips it inside me. It's fucking warm—not like normal lube, so it surprises me a little. He works it around for a minute, only stretching me a little, before pulling back.

Mike fumbles around for a moment. I hear the tear of a wrapper, so I assume he's pulling on a condom. Then, he spits on his cock with surprisingly good aim. I'm assuming, at least, since I'm up against the wall and I can't really see. After a couple of seconds, he clamps his teeth lightly on my shoulder and bites down as he pushes in. It feels so fucking good to be full again that I have to bite my tongue to hold back a moan.

He basically knows where my prostate is by now, so it doesn't take long for a familiar sense of pleasure to come in waves every time he pushes inside me.

"You're so tight," he hisses in my ear after a few thrusts. His voice does things to me—things that it shouldn't—and paired with the feeling of him in me, I can't stop myself from moaning quietly. He lets it slide this time, thankfully. For a couple of minutes, I just let him pound into me, his breathing picking up with every thrust. Soon, I feel something building inside me, and I almost whimper. I want to let go so fucking badly.

"Fuck, I'm close," I gasp out as his nails dig into my hips. He breathes some sort of agreement into my ear as he pulls me away from the wall so that he can stroke me. Just as his thumb brushes over my tip, I shoot into his hand and hiss loudly, a shuddering release of ecstasy taking over me. Luckily, he's holding me up so I fall into him while I come. A moment later, he pounds into me hard and stills.

"Fuuuuuuck," he groans, probably bruising my hips with his grip while I try to get my breathing under control. He throws himself in a desperate few more times and then finally slows down. Then, he pulls out and sighs. He grabs some toilet paper and throws it at me so that I can clean myself up a little. He's breathing heavily and smiling as he pulls off the condom and throws it in the toilet.

"Thanks, Raphael," he murmurs, then chuckles. I say nothing as I pull up my pants and reach for my shirt. "You look hot in that mask."

I roll my eyes to hide how my heart skips a beat when he says that. While he fixes his shirt, I grab his cape and sling it around his shoulders. He ties it, then picks up a dropped pack of cigarettes from the ground.

"We'll have to do this again soon," he tells me. I don't respond, since that much is obvious, and anyway, he's already talking again. "So…I'll leave now and you can leave in five so that it's not suspicious."

I nod at him and he winks. I'm aching to step forward and kiss him, because it would feel nice, but he's gone before I can let my guard down and grab him. Anyway, that would be a bad idea. It's not like I want these urges. I mean, the sexual ones, yeah. But I can't be doing that romantic shit.

As I pull on my shirt, something terrible happens.

"Holy shit," Mike says from outside the stall. I'm about to ask him what's wrong, but I don't have to.

"Hi, Mikey," says Vic Fuentes' strident voice. My jaw drops. Obviously, Vic heard what just went down. Not only that, but he's close with Mike, so he probably knows about his girlfriend. The question is, when the fuck did he come in? I could've sworn the bathroom was empty.

It doesn't even matter. All I can do is hope that Vic is a good enough friend to keep Mike out of trouble.

"Victor," says Mike, regaining his composure. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

"It's a public bathroom, Michael," Vic quips.

Michael…that's kind of cute.

Fuck me.

"What do you want?" Mike asks impassively. Clearly, he's trying to take the tough-guy stance even though he was just caught with his pants down. Literally.

"I just want to know who the slut is," Vic says. I frown. I'm not a slut. Not as much of a slut as Mike is, anyway.

"It's none of your business, Vic. Now, leave."

"You want me to leave?" Vic laughs dryly. "You just cheated on Krista. You think I'm just going to drop it?"

"Fuck yeah, you're going to drop it. This is my life. Get the fuck out of it."

"It would be your life if you decided you wanted to move to Tijuana and become a fucking smoothie chef. No, this is Krista's fucking life, you dickhole. I don't know who you think you are, but you can't go around fucking strangers in public bathrooms."

"Whatever, Vic. I'm leaving," Mike snaps.

"I'm going to tell her," Vic calls while the bathroom door slams shut. I then find myself starting to get very scared. How could he just leave me here alone? It's not that I couldn't take Vic in a fight, because I could. He probably weighs ninety-eight pounds. The problem is that I'm not good under pressure, and if Vic finds out it's me, I won't be able to stop him from telling Austin. Then, my life is over.

"Might as well come out now," Vic says openly. My throat tightens and I instinctively take a step away from the door. "Don't worry," he continues. "I'm only pissed at Mike. I just want to know which whore you are so that I can keep an eye on you."

He tries to open the stall door, but it's locked. He sighs.

"Look, you can't stay in there forever, so if you're not going to come out, I'm just going to crawl under the door."

I'm cornered now, so I curse under my breath and push open the door. When he sees it's me, Vic's eyes widen.

"You?! Fuck, so Mike's into fucking dudes again. Great."

Vic is dressed in a frilly white shirt and a velvety, maroon jacket. He has eyeliner, and he's even grown a little mustache. That's not even mentioning the curly wig. I squint at him in confusion.

"What are you supposed to be?"

"I'm Prince, you idiot. God. And that is definitely not the issue here."

I say nervously, "Alright, I'm sorry I fucked your friend, but it really is none of your business."

"Oh, it's my business. When my brother decides to fuck random whores like you behind his girlfriend's back, I don't really take well to it."

"That doesn't make it your—wait, did you say brother?"

Vic rolls his eyes and nods, clearly getting impatient. I can't do anything but gape.

Mike is Vic's brother.

Mike…Fuentes.

I'm such an idiot. I've actually heard that name before; why didn't I put the pieces together?

"Okay, Tony. I don't know if you knew about Krista, but I don't care. You will fucking stay away from Mike from now on. You got that?"

"He said their thing was casual," I blurt out, knowing full-well that it won't help me out in any way. I just wanted to get it out there. Vic only sighs.

"Well, of course he said that. I know you're a goody two-shoes, so he probably told you that so that you wouldn't get your conscience all soiled. Not that you can have much of a conscience anyway, cheating on people in a fucking club bathroom."

"Hey, we work here," I point out. "It's not just some random club. You don't have to make it sound so sleazy."

"That's not funny, Tony." He glares at me. "The point is that people will get hurt if this goes on, so it has to stop."

"Oh, that's great, coming from you," I retort before I can stop myself. When he looks at me in confusion, I explain, "You don't think Kellin's going to get hurt if you keep leading him on like that?"

"What? Kellin? I'm…I-I'm fucking straight!" he defends.

"Is that so? Well, what do you have to say about that time I saw you two practically dry-humping each other in here?"

"I don't…I was high, okay? And wasted. I'm… _affectionate_ when I'm drunk. And that's not even the issue. We're talking about you, wrecking my brother's relationship with Kellin's fucking sister."

Kellin's sister?! What is this, a soap opera?

When he sees my surprise, Vic says, "Oh, so you didn't know about that part either. Well, get an earful. My brother is dating my best friend's sister, and I love the shit out of all of them. So this is your final warning to stay the fuck away from Mike. I won't tell anyone about it now because I'm fucking nice. But if I hear about you trying to throw yourself on him again, it will not be pretty, I can promise you that much." When I don't speak for a moment, Vic says forcefully, "Are we fucking clear?"

"Yeah, fine. We're clear," I snap, doing my best not to glare. To be honest, I'm not sure that I'll stay away from Mike. It wouldn't take much convincing on his part to get me to stick around. But I know we'll at least have to be more careful if we keep fucking.

See, the thing is, if Mike's not fucking me, he'll just be fucking someone else. Vic might not want to believe it, but Mike is kind of a whore. And he's really fucking hot, so he won't have any trouble finding someone to get him off. In that sense, I'd be doing Vic a favor. I'm clean, so Mike can't get anything from me. Who knows about random strangers?

Maybe some of this is just the vodka talking, but I know for sure that I'm not exactly opposed to having sex with him. Krista's an idiot if she expects him to stay true.

Or maybe I'm just jealous.

The point is, when Vic leaves the bathroom, I have every intention of going against what I told him. As far as I know, there's no God to damn me for my choice. So why not? Why not keep fucking Mike? If we're careful, nothing can go wrong.


	16. Chapter 16

On November fourteenth, the club is almost as wild as a frat party, but with better music. I feel bad for Oli. This is his third week of bartending ever, and he's completely swamped with people demanding copious amounts of tequila and whiskey and anything strong. The Vibe is on tonight, and people are going fucking nuts. The pit area is practically an orgy. It's less like dancing and more like a swarm of two things: moshing and sex.

Anyone who's not drunk is high on the dozens of joints that are being passed around. I swear I even saw Austin emerge from his office and cuddle up to a few dudes, trying to get a hit off of them. I guess he gave up on quitting smoking—not that it's my problem. There's a massive pile of coke on one of the tables, and people are scraping off lines at a time. Whoever paid for that must be clean broke by now.

So yeah, it's pretty wild. The cause? Jack and Alex came out.

The crazy part is, they're having sex in VIP right now, being cheered on by a crowd. So not only did their news trigger a massive party, but they've accumulated an audience who wants to watch them fuck. I'm sure they'd be cool with that even if they _weren't_ high and drunk and in love.

As I expected, Mike was in no way wanting to stop our little arrangement just because Vic caught us. He was surprised I felt the same way, though. He was ready to grovel and threaten me into giving in and I just said okay. The only problem I had before was that I could be a threat to Mike's love with his girlfriend. Now, I know that Mike doesn't believe in love, and I'm certainly not the only person he'd cheat on her with.

And maybe I'd take any excuse to be around Mike and getting fucked by him has been the best thing that's happened to me in a year, but nobody has to know about that.

Right now, I'm with the King of Sobriety, Jaime Preciado. Surprisingly, he hasn't had anything to drink since he closed his tab three weeks ago. Of course, he hasn't given up drugs. I look over to see him accept a syringe from Phil, wiping the tip with his sleeve and plunging it into his arm. He smiles and offers it to me, but I decline.

Zoe, who _has_ given up drugs, hasn't been here in about four weeks. Apparently, she has a nasty case of the flu that she can't quite kick. Jaime has been taking care of her, but she lets him go out every night while she sleeps.

Yeah. They're living together now. I tried to talk him out of it, but he wouldn't listen. I'm starting to think it wasn't that bad of an idea, though. He hasn't shown any sign of regret despite putting up with her girly shit for several days.

"Dude," says Jaime, grinning widely. "Dude, this shit is _good_."

He starts tapping his foot at an inhuman speed and laughing to himself. I pat him on the back.

"That's great, Himes. I'll be right back. Don't break anything, okay?"

He cracks up at that while I stand, stretch, and make my way over to the bar. It's fucking packed, and it takes nearly ten minutes for me to reach the front of the crowd.

Just as I make eye contact with Oli, who appears to be very bitter toward me, the guitar cuts out.

"Thank you all," Kellin squeaks into the microphone. "You guys were fucking animals tonight. We'll see you next week." The band runs off the stage, and an instant later, Aaron turns on some Islander.

"I fucking hate you, Tony Perry," Oli glares, eyes wide as someone screams their order at him. I smile sympathetically.

"Sorry. Can I get two quick shots of Jack?"

"How about I punch you in the face instead?"

"I'm sorry, bro. I didn't choose for it to be this crazy tonight."

He rolls his eyes and pulls out two shot glasses. He pours the drinks and I down them both quickly, one after the other.

"Alright, mate, you had your fucking shots, now get away before I kill you."

"Later, drama queen," I tell him, rolling my eyes. He flips me off as I leave, but I know he's not actually mad. He's just irritated because I'm allowed to drink while he does my job serving the psychotic customers.

It takes awhile to reach Jaime again. We're not in VIP because neither he nor I wanted to watch Alex fuck Jack. A good third of the population decided now is a good time to leave since The Vibe is done. Because of that, I have to fight the current to make it back to the couches where we parked for the night. When I get there, Jaime's not alone.

"And then, and then I took the keys right out of the ignition, and I, and I ran, broke out, running down the street, looking for where the hell, where the hell can I hide," Jaime says, smiling, verging on cross-eyed to the guy on his left. That guy happens to be a laughing Vic Fuentes.

Jaime studies me in concentration for a few seconds and then splits a grin.

"Tony!" he shrieks, throwing his arms out like he wants a hug. I ignore him, sitting to his left, but he hugs me anyway and plants a wet kiss on my cheek.

"Dude," I chuckle, wiping at my face with my sleeve. "What are you even on?"

He looks down and squints, then his face lights up as if he's discovered something fantastic.

"The couch," he declares.

That has Vic and I both laughing, but then I get tense once I realize who exactly it is Jaime decided to hang out with. Vic and I were never great friends even before he found out I was sleeping with his brother. We didn't have a problem with each other or anything. I just always thought he was kind of arrogant, and I get the feeling he thought the same of me. Jaime, though, must think he's fantastic considering the way he throws an arm around Vic's shoulders and starts biting his hair.

"Hello, Tony," he says coldly, gently pushing Jaime off of him. Jaime turns to me after that, trying to pull me onto his lap. I'm bigger than he is, so it doesn't work very well, and ends up more like Jaime squeezing my waist and grunting.

"Hey, Vic," I offer, trying to look nonchalant but probably looking nervous or constipated or something.

"Tony," says Jaime, looking up at me. "Tone Bone, his name is Vic-tuuuurrrrr. Vic-tuuuurrrrr Fent-ez."

Vic laughs at that, grabbing an abandoned beer from the table and downing what's left.

"You could get roofied doing that," I warn, genuinely not wanting him to accidentally date rape drug himself. It's happened to Jaime a few times, although Jaime kind of thought it was funny. Vic just rolls his eyes at me and picks up another.

"Hey, Tony," Jaime says right in my ear. I scoot away and laugh.

"What, Himes?"

"I'm going to fuck Victor."

Vic's eyes widen while Jaime leans into me. I just chuckle.

"What about Zoe?"

"Oh, yeah," Jaime breathes. "She's going to fuck Victor too."

"Wouldn't mind that," Vic mutters. I look at him in disbelief and laugh dryly. He asks, "What's so funny, Perry?"

"Oh, nothing," I say dismissively. "It's just…you sleeping with Jaime's girlfriend. That would be hilarious."

"Why?"

I smirk and lean back. "Don't you think that would be a little hypocritical, Fuentes?"

He furrows his eyebrows. "How would that—oh, I see. Because you're fucking my—"

"Shut up," I cut him off, casting a wary glance at Jaime. Thankfully, he's high as a kite. God, if he were sober, I'd be fucked.

"Jaime doesn't know?" Vic asks in astonishment.

"Jaime knows all," says Jaime himself, staring intently at someone's shoes.

"Did you take something while I was gone, Himes?" I ask him. He looks at me for a minute and then gasps.

"Tone, Tone, you have a motherfucking diamond on your face!"

I ignore him as he reaches for my dermal and turn to Vic.

"Did you see Captain Trip over here take anything?"

"Didn't know you were the drug police."

"I'm not, I just want to know what he took. If he can't look out for himself, someone's got to do it."

Vic rolls his eyes. "Right, because you actually give a fuck."

I stand up then, folding my arms, growing sick of his comments.

"Look, Fuentes, I can't say I don't know what your problem is, because I do. But you don't have to act like I'm a heartless dick just because of one thing I did." I look at him and lie through my teeth. "We fucking stopped. I ended it when you asked me to. And just so you fucking know, he practically groveled for me to stay. So if you're going to get pissy over this, direct it elsewhere."

It's more words out of my mouth than I've let out in awhile, and it has me getting sick of talking. I thought doing a couple of shots would loosen me up, but really, I just want to crawl into bed and slip into my dreams.

And Vic? He's not impressed by my little spiel.

"Sorry if I'm a little cold," he says, no semblance of an actual apology in his tone. "But you kind of got between something really fucking important and I don't like you much. Forgive me if that's blunt, princess—" I wince at his word choice. "—but it's the fucking truth. I don't like you. And you can't expect me to act like I do."

The way he's glaring at me just makes me sigh. I get it. I get why he hates me. I don't think I deserve it, even though I got a little snappy in the bathroom, but I understand.

When I glance at Jaime, who's being astonishingly quiet, his eyes are half-lidded while he lies down on the couch. I figure he's halfway asleep by now, and I'm not in the mood for getting called a princess by Mike's brother, so I use Jaime as an escape route.

"I'm going to take Jaime home," I tell Vic neutrally. "Have fun listening to your brother fuck people in public bathrooms."

It's something I wouldn't say if we weren't alone save for Jaime, who's more out of it than Switzerland in World War II, and if I weren't intoxicated. But I happened to have both of those conditions available, and I get the satisfaction of seeing Vic clench his fists while I hoist Jaime up to lean on me.

So it's a weird night. It starts off wild and ends in exhaustion. Even though I don't see Mike, I have to deal with his bitchy protective brother. He's lucky he's a damn good fuck, otherwise it might not be worth all the trouble.

* * *

 

I wasn't even going to go to the club on Saturday, but Jaime really wanted me to. Whatever the hell he took had some bad aftereffects; apparently, he got a pill from Justin Trotta while I was at the bar not knowing exactly what it was. He had a bad morning, so he wants to talk to Justin about it. I'm here for backup. It should be fine, but Trotta is known for picking fights over arbitrary things, so I may have to diffuse the situation if it comes to that.

Jaime remembers nothing about what went down between me and Vic. Thank god. I figure that he'll find out about Mike eventually, but I'm going to put it off for as long as I can. I don't want to risk him blabbing if he happens to be in an honest high.

So I pick him up from his apartment, where he keeps glancing back to the door.

"Zoe was throwing up again," he says sadly.

"Again? Has she been to the doctor?"

"No, she says she had the same thing two years ago. It's just the flu."

"I don't think it's supposed to last that long, Himes," I tell him gently. He looks at me like I'm trying to tell him I ran over his dog.

"She's going to be fine, Tony," he insists.

"Are you sure you don't want to just stay home? Maybe she wants you to take care of her."

"Nah, she practically kicked me out," he shrugs. "She's having a friend over for comfort or whatever. I don't know, girl stuff. She'll be okay."

I drop it after that, because he seems to think she's fine, and I don't particularly care for Zoe anyway. It's not that I don't like her—I mean, she's badass and she makes Jaime happy. I just don't really trust her. She lied about her age up until Jaime was about to break the law by sleeping with her. Who knows what else she could be lying about?

Most people have to catch taxis to the club; that, or park a few blocks away, but I happen to have my own employees-only parking space behind the club. Whenever he gets a ride with me, Jaime always ends up chanting, "VIP! VIP!" and it makes me want to punch him in the eye.

Another perk of working here: I don't have to tell Rian the password. Jaime doesn't either since he's on the VIP list, but it's still something not everybody has. We just salute him as we pass, and he winks at us.

"Enjoy the vacation while it lasts, Tony," he calls. I kind of feel bad and smile sheepishly. Rian and Zack were the ones to actually point out that we need days off, and yet, Austin decided, 'Oh, let's give Tony a four-week vacation.' Impeccable logic, really. Nice, Austin.

It's Saturday, so Alex & Tay are onstage. Despite the breakup, they seem to have remained friends. That makes sense, considering it wasn't a real relationship anyway. Alex, however, looks painfully hungover. That's what he gets for starting up such a huge party yesterday.

"Should we get beers?" I ask Jaime, looking longingly at the bar. Maybe I'm back in the party stage of my life.

"I'm not drinking, remember?" Jaime scolds me. "And aren't you in debt?"

"A little," I shrug guiltily. He pulls me past the bar and up the stairs.

"What happened with Mike, anyway? Did you guys work something out?"

I bristle and pray Jaime doesn't notice. "Oh, uh…he said I can take as long as I need. You know, once I explained and shit. He's not a bad guy, even if he is a tiny bit of a douchebag." A douchebag I've seen naked.

"Oh, come on," says Jaime. "You have the biggest lesbian crush on him. Don't even try with comments like that."

I mumble, "Shut up," while Jaime sets his course to a guy named Tilian who sang during the last open-mic night. He has a high voice, but it's good, even if he looks like he's supposed to sound like Barry Manilow.

Jaime and Tilian do that straight-guys-greeting-each-other thing that I've never understood even though I'm not full-on gay. Then, Jaime turns to business.

"Hey, have you seen Trotta?"

"Don't think so," Tilian shrugs. "Why?"

"Ah, he gave me something yesterday. It was no me gusta. Just wanted to ask him what it was."

"Oh, that's too bad. You're not going to start something with him, are you?"

Jaime laughs. "No. That's what Tony's here for, in case Trotta thinks I'm accusing him of shit."

"I'm a bartender," I shrug. "I've had to break up a few fights in my time."

"Dude, I'm a bartender too!" Tilian exclaims, and then he's starting a conversation and I'm just thinking, oh no, oh god no, don't try to have a conversation with me. I have the worst social skills, especially when I'm sober.

Jaime knows this, and he knows just how to get out of it.

"Dude, that's so rad," he says. "Listen, Tilian, we've got to go find Trotta, but we've definitely got to hang soon. You, me, and maybe Tony if he's not Austin's bitch at the time. Sound good?"

And Tilian doesn't even realize that I don't want to talk to him so he nods and smiles. Jaime is a fucking god.

So we leave, and Jaime whispers into my ear, "I gotchu, homie." I just snort at him.

We go through a few more people before Jaime practically shrieks.

"Hills!" he calls, and I look across the room to see Justin Hills, buying something from none other than Mike Fuentes.

I think of the 'Fuentes' part and flinch, and then I realize Jaime's dragging me over to them and I flinch even more.

Jaime and Justin are a dynamic duo of ADHD and gossip. They're like each others' gay best friend, even though Jaime's straight and Justin's only pansexual or whatever. Justin is the biggest slut I know, and he's always trying to get into my pants any time I see him. He almost did once, when Jaime made me go to a strip club with him and Justin got me drunk. He actually ended up puking before we even started, so it didn't really work out too well.

"Preciado!" Justin yelps once we're in close enough proximity and kisses him full on the lips. This is his normal greeting, and he does the same to me once he's done with my best friend. Jaime slings his arm around Justin and grins.

"Dude, it's been too fucking long," he says. "Okay, like a week. But still. Hey, Mike."

Mike is looking amused at the way I wipe my lips after Justin kisses me. I blush and half-grin at him.

"Tony," Mike says in his smooth voice. "Looking good, as always."

Before I can respond, Jaime captures me with his other arm and pecks my cheek. He gets affectionate when he's around Justin. They kind of feed off each other.

"I've got all the friends I need right here," Jaime drawls, feigning drunkenness. "Capitol Hills and Toner the Loner."

"What about me?" Mike scoffs.

"Hm," says Jaime. "You're okay, too, Mi-Mike…uh…Mi-crowave oven…."

We all laugh while Jaime shakes his head in shame.

"Sorry," he says. "That was the worst nickname I've ever—ugh. That was bad."

"You're forgiven," Mike chuckles. "I've been called worse things than a microwave oven."

Justin throws in, "An old woman once called me an asexually-reproducing prokaryote. Well, rather, she asked me if I was one and when I said no, she was all, 'Then stop it with your faggotry and get married to lady.' I happened to be making out with some guy at the time, so that's why."

"Have you ever been called a vampire?" I ask him. Justin narrows his eyes at me.

"Did Jaime tell you to say that?"

I glance at Jaime, who's grinning sheepishly, still with his arms around our shoulders.

"Jaime told me the whole story," I admit. "But don't worry. I won't tell anyone."

"You asshole!" Justin gasps, looking at Jaime.

"Hey," he defends. "Tony is the babe. I tell him everything."

We're interrupted by a small, pale, blonde girl smacking full-force into Mike. He doesn't notice until the last second when she grabs his face and pulls him down to meet her lips. She kisses him, and I expect him to pull away. That's what I'd do if I were randomly attacked by a stranger, even with a body as nice as hers. But even after his initial shock, Mike's eyes slide shut and he holds her waist and kisses her. It stings a little.

Finally, they pull back for air.

"Mike," her voice squeaks. "Hi."

He still looks a little shocked as he says, "Hey, babe." He easily slides an arm around her waist, even though his face has confusion written all over it. Why is he touching her like that? I mean, it's not my business or anything, but that's not the normal reaction to being rape-kissed.

"Who's this cutie?" Justin asks, his face instantly turning seductive. I guess he's feeling straight tonight, because I know that look, and it says he wants his dick all up in her. Mike rolls his eyes at Justin.

"This," he says, tightening his grip, "is my girlfriend. Krista."

And when I hear that name, my heart clenches. It's then that I realize something.

Mike Fuentes isn't mine, and it kind of hurts like hell.

I want to shove her away from him even though she's really, _really_ cute, like tiny puppy cute, and I don't think I'll even be able to bring myself to hate her. It makes sense, considering she's related to Kellin. Even he's tiny puppy cute, and he's a man. Krista is…well, she's got these massive blue eyes and the way she's looking adoringly up at Mike would make my heart stop even if I wasn't head-over-heels gay for him. I suddenly want to kill Mike for cheating on her.

And then I see Vic about ten feet away, smiling smugly at me. I don't want to cause a scene, but my hands ball up into fists anyway. Of course Vic would do this. Of course he would bring her here just to rub it in my face that Mike has a girlfriend. As far as he knows, Mike and I have stopped fucking, so he can't be doing this for any reason other than for the sake of being a massive dick.

Except Mike and I haven't stopped fucking. I've been at his place twice just this week, and my debt is down to two hundred. That makes it a little easier not to wail on Vic's face. Still, he made a dick move.

"Mike," says Krista in this adorable voice. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your friends?"

"Right," he coughs. "This is Justin, Jaime, and Tony."

"Nice to meet you," she smiles. It almost kills me how cute she is. I almost want to cheat on Mike with _her_.

Vic walks up and Mike glares at him. To Krista, he says, "Yeah, babe. I've told you about Tony before, right?"

And then everyone's looking at me—Jaime and Justin in confusion, Krista in curiosity, Vic in annoyance, and Mike…he's hard to read. The way he said it was kind of passive aggressive, but that was toward Vic, obviously. And me…he just looks like he's challenging me. To do what, I don't know.

"I think so," Krista says, smiling up at me. "You're the bartender, right?" I nod. "Mike told me you were cute. He said if he was gay, he'd fuck you."

I have to hold back a laugh. She doesn't know that Mike likes cock? Oh, if only she were aware of the fact that a few days ago, he was pounding me on his bed. Maybe she's one of those people who don't believe in bisexuals.

"No offense, babe," Mike says, "but what are you doing here?"

She peeks up at him innocently. "Vic invited me."

Mike sets his jaw. "That was nice of him."

"Mhm," she grins, oblivious to his annoyance. I, for one, am not exactly sure why he's irritated. Is it just because he knows why Vic did it, or is there something else?

No. I shouldn't get my hopes up.

He turns to her and holds her face. I look away because it hurts a little to watch. Instead, I play with Jaime's hair. "Look, baby, it's not that I'm not happy to see you, but I've got to get back to work."

"Don't worry," she chirps. "I was just stopping by. I'll see you on Monday, okay?"

"Okay." I'm not looking, but I know they're kissing now. Jaime's trying to be discreet about it, but he's leaning into my hand while I mess with his hair. I grin a little. Does Jaime have a hair pulling kink?

Krista says, "I love you," to Mike, and my smile is blinked out like a light. He says it back and it kills me even more.

Jaime notices, because suddenly, he grabs my face and kisses me. Full-on Jaime lips, no warning. It's just a peck, really, but it's an aggressive one. He pulls away and I choke out a laugh.

"Jaime, what the fuck?" I sputter.

Krista coos, "Oh, gosh, you guys are so cute."

"I—no, we're not…he was just—"

"It was just a joke," Jaime says coolly. "I get that way when I'm around Justin. I mean, I have a girlfriend, so…."

"You have a girlfriend, so you kissed him," Krista finishes.

Jaime shrugs, "Love was in the air," and I shove him, blushing furiously by now, but he just beams innocently at me.

"It was nice meeting you all," Krista waves as she turns to leave. I avert my eyes when she squeezes Mike's hand and then drops it.

The worst part is, I think I like Krista. Maybe even more than I like Zoe. And I don't know if I can keep helping Mike betray her, even if I have a stupid crush on him.

"Damn, Tone," Jaime says once she's gone. "Haven't had your lips in five years."

"Shove it up your ass, Preciado," I tell him. I'm only halfway joking. I know he meant well by kissing me, but I'm pissed off at everything else. Vic, mostly, for pulling this stunt. Mike, too, just because I can be. And, of course, myself, for even existing.

Vic leaves after a brief conversation with Mike that I'm not paying attention to because now, Justin is hitting on me. I guess seeing Jaime kiss me made him realize that I am a human with sexual organs and that makes his brain say, 'yes.' But then Jaime gives him a telepathic ADHD friend sort of message and he shuts up. I guess Jaime knows that I'm not really in the mood for any of this shit after what I've just experienced. I can't even bring myself to look at Mike.

I should look at him. I should, because if he sees me looking all forlorn at the ground, he'll know that I didn't like what I just saw, and that means he'll know I have feelings for him. I don't want him knowing that. It's stupid anyway. We've fucked ten times and we hung out a couple before that, but all I know about him is that he's smooth and he gets my thoughts scrambled and he sounds so helpless when he's about to come. He's funny sometimes because of how obnoxiously cocky he is (no pun intended), and he knows what he wants. I guess all of those things made me want to be around him all the time and give him chaste kisses and talk to him about music and oh my god I'm so gay.

The real problem is that I'm just a quiet guy with too many tattoos who likes nerd movies. I never say the right things because I get too flustered, I'm a complete pushover, and the only time I'm funny is when I'm drunk and climbing on top of things. I try way too fucking hard, and Mike deserves better.

He deserves Krista.

"So, anyway," Jaime says, breaking me out of my thoughts. "Have either of you seen Justin Trotta?"

"Hm…," says Justin. "Me Trotta? Not tonight, I don't think."

"You, Mike?"

"Yeah, actually, I gave him something earlier. What do you need him for?" Mike asks as if nothing just happened. I guess it _was_ nothing for everyone except me.

Jaime explains, "He gave me something yesterday and I wanted to ask him what it was."

"I am a dealer, you know," Mike reasons. "What were your symptoms?"

"Well, it was a pill. I had some hell dust a couple minutes before, but only a tiny bit. So then, like, five minutes after I took the pill, everything started wiggling around. Like, flowing kinda. And my brain fucking tickled. Everyone's voice was lower, too. But I got really sleepy maybe thirty minutes after. Was it thirty, Tone?"

"More like ten," I correct.

"Ah. Well, I was high, you see. So I got home at least before one, I don't know when exactly, but I went straight to sleep. Then, I woke up at eight AM and I was fucking cold. And I tried to stand up, but gravity was like ten times stronger, I swear." Jaime tells him the rest of how he felt this morning, and Mike nods through his explanation. Finally, he hums.

"Yeah, I know what you took. That was what Austin calls a Solar Flare. Secret recipe. He got it from Tino. You're not supposed to take it with H because it knocks you the fuck out and the aftereffects are wicked. Still not fun afterwards by itself, but it's twice as bad if you've had H as well. It was fun, though, right? Even though you only got ten minutes?"

"Sure," Jaime shrugs. "Can you get a bad trip from it?"

"Not like acid, but there's sometimes paranoia. That's usually if you take too much. We measure carefully."

"Ah, cool. I'll have to try it again sometime, just without the heroin."

Mike laughs. "Cool."

"Alright, well, that's pretty much all we needed," Jaime says, giving Mike a clap on the back. "Thanks, dude."

"No problem. See you Jaime. And you too, Tony."

Jaime bids a dramatic farewell to Justin and then pulls me away before I can even get in a goodbye, but Mike hisses in my ear, "Backstage. Ten minutes."

I glance at him as we leave, and he's already chatting with someone else. I don't have time to think before we're down the stairs and Jaime starts to hold my hand.

"Uh…what are you doing?" I question.

"Shh. You're sad. Just go with it."

"I'm not sad," I protest.

"Shut the fuck up, you just found out Mike has a girlfriend. And don't think I wasn't watching your face. Now, let me comfort you. Do you want a beer?"

Now, I already knew that Mike had a girlfriend, but Jaime doesn't know that, and anyway, he's right. I'm a little sad, even if I have no right to be. So I let him hold my hand, because he thinks that'll help.

"I don't need a beer," I insist. "What do you want to do?"

He looks at me, surprised. "You don't want to go home?"

Technically, I do, but Mike wants to meet me in ten minutes. For that reason, I tell him no.

"Do you want to go mosh?" he asks me. I look to the crowd and see people actually moshing. Alex & Tay just got off, and now there's some random band up. They're more pop punk than anything, but it still has a nice beat.

"I don't know," I shrug, looking at him helplessly. Suddenly, he pulls out his phone and checks it.

"Fuck," he groans. "I actually have to go, Tone Bone. I'm sorry. Zoe says her friend bailed on her and she doesn't want to be alone."

"It's okay. Your girlfriend is sick. You should be with her," I tell him.

"Are you sure?" he asks. I roll my eyes.

"Yes, go. Do you want to take my car?"

"How are you going to get home?"

"I have a skateboard behind the bar." I pull my keys out of my pocket and hold them up. "Here."

Jaime grabs them and hugs me tightly. "You're the best."

"Why are you so gay today?" I ask, amused.

"I don't know. It's a gay day." He shrugs. "I'll text you, okay? Later, Tone."

As he leaves, I call, "If you crash my car, I'll fucking kill you!" and he's gone.

* * *

 

Fifteen minutes later, I'm sitting on top of an amp when Mike finally walks in.

"Took you long enough," I mutter, doing my best to keep my voice void of emotion. Mike walks over to me and I notice he looks pissed. And then he kisses me.

It's an angry kiss—he bites my lip and pulls my hair and it goes on for awhile until I push him away.

I know what I have to do. I have to break things off with Mike. It's not what I wanted yesterday, and it's not even what I wanted an hour ago. But then Krista showed up with her adorable face and good intentions and my conscience has finally decided to show up, even if it's late to the party.

"Are you mad at me or something?" Mike asks, folding his arms impudently. "Sorry that seeing my girlfriend hurt your fucking feelings, but I think you should grow some balls and get over it. I don't have time for this girly shit."

He tries to dive back in but I fend him off.

"Mike, we have to talk," I tell him.

"About what?" he snaps. "To be honest, princess, I don't really want to talk about my _feelings_ with you."

He's being a dick, and it's starting to piss me off, so I say, "I thought we were done with this 'princess' shit. I'm not actually a girl. You know that, right?"

"Could've fooled me," he glares, and I glare back. I think it's some kind of natural male response to get pissed off at being called a girl. It's not that I think women are inferior or anything. In fact, there are probably a few girls here that could beat my ass with no problem. It's the fact that Mike said it that bothers me; he, obviously, _does_ see women as inferior, so calling me one? It puts me on the defensive.

"What the hell are you so pissed about?" I growl, setting my stance. He laughs dryly.

"I'm pissed because Vic brought Krista here, my work, the one place I didn't want her. He knows that. Krista shares everything with me. I don't want her showing up here and partying while I'm working. That's…it's not her fucking place. She was never supposed to even know where I am. He wrecked that."

"Why do you even give a fuck?" I ask him. He throws his arms up in exasperation.

"Because I don't want to be around her all the fucking time. I don't want her to be one of those cute girlfriends who surprises me at work, I'm not about that. Next she'll want me to fucking propose."

I almost snort at that. Mike getting married? He'd sooner suck Vic's dick.

Mike hisses, "It doesn't matter. Go wait by my car."

I frown. "What? Why?"

He rolls his eyes. "Because I'm going to fuck you, you idiot."

"No, Mike," I say firmly.

"What? Don't be a dickbag, just go."

"No!" I repeat. "I'm not going to sleep with you tonight. Or any night. I…I'm done."

"You're _done?_ " he roars. "No you're fucking not. Just because you're all pissy about seeing me with my girlfriend doesn't mean you can throw a tantrum about it. Guess what? You and I are not dating, Tony. You don't get to feel sad and push me away and expect me to let you. I am going to fuck you, and you are going to like it, and you are not going to whine to me about Krista."

"This isn't even about me, Mike," I bark. "This is about her. You know what I am? I'm a good fucking guy. Even though I knew about Krista before, I was able to keep having sex with you because I had never met her and I didn't have to think about her. But now that I…look, seeing her made it real, okay? I think she really loves you. I can't exactly stop you from sleeping with other people, but I'm not going to help you be a womanizing whore."

A million different expressions cross Mike's face then—confusion, anger, disbelief—he settles on a soft, sad gaze.

"Yeah," he says quietly, taking a step toward me. I don't move away. I can't. "Maybe I am a womanizer. Maybe…maybe that's why I need you."

I close my eyes and shake my head. "You don't need me, Mike."

"Tony…," he murmurs, and then suddenly, his lips are on mine. It's soft and sweet and he strokes my face while he does it. It melts me, but then I get pissed and shove him back.

"No, Mike," I snarl. "You can't fucking do that." It wasn't a regular Mike kiss. It was a loving-boyfriend-type kiss. He knows how I feel about him and he's trying to fuck with that to get me to stay. I can't let him use me; I can't, because using me means using Krista, and while I'd be willing to sacrifice my own feelings to be screwed over by Mike, I won't sacrifice hers.

"God, Tony. Stop being a little bitch," he says, rolling his eyes. That only proves that he didn't mean the kiss, and it makes me even angrier.

"Stop being an asshole. The world doesn't revolve around you, Mike," I spit. "I hope you were paying attention to that kiss, because that's the last you'll ever taste of me. Prick."

And I walk the fuck out of there, and I grab my skateboard from Oli and go the fuck home, and I don't even care that I sounded like a bitchy drag queen because I got the last word in and I'm not going to let Mike Fuentes use me anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry for making two references.


	17. Chapter 17

"I can't remember, Tony," Jaime drawls into the phone. "Do I take twenty-five sleeping pills or thirty?"

Those are the words that make me drop everything and speed to Jaime's house, using my key to get in and finding him on the couch, holding a pill bottle that is thankfully still full. I tackle him before he can do anything stupid, take the bottle, and throw it across the room. He's high. I can smell the pot on his breath.

The first thing I notice about the apartment is that it's way emptier than the last time I was here. I can't put my finger on it at first—what's missing? He still has his TV, dirty dishes on the table, a few pipes here and there. That's all he's ever had, though. So what was here before that makes the place seem so bare?

And then it hits me.

Jaime's voice cracks when he says, "It hurts, Tony." The way he says it breaks my heart. I sit up and pull him onto me, rubbing his back while he shivers, trying not to let any tears escape.

See, Jaime doesn't cry. I don't either. We're just not like that. Not many dudes are, but we're kind of adamant about it. Jaime copes by getting high. I cope by getting drunk. But now, he's really fighting it. It almost makes _me_ want to cry.

After a few minutes, I have to ask him, "What did that bitch do?"

"Don't call her that," he mumbles into my shoulder. A few more minutes pass and we're both silent until he groans, "I love her, Tony. I fucking love her. I'm a nice guy. Why would she do this to me?"

"Please tell me what she did, Himes."

He sighs and hugs me tightly around the middle. "Later, okay?" He pulls away from me to turn on the TV. Then, he pushes me down on the couch and cuddles into me. This is nothing new. Jaime and I have danced. We've made out. I even tried to give him a blowjob when I was drunk once. I know he just needs somebody to hold him right now, and I'm here, so I will.

With a smile that isn't actually all that happy, I remember how Jaime liked me playing with his hair two days ago, so that's what I do now. He whines, "Stop that," but I know it's not a real request. For a long time, we just lie there, his head on my chest and my fingers in his hair. The TV cuts through the silence and gives us something to focus on. Me, though, I'm not all that focused. I'm more concerned about what Zoe did to break Jaime's heart. I can't imagine he gives a fuck about the TV either. And eventually, he sits up.

"I'm almost ready to talk. Let me just find some more weed."

He disappears into his room and comes back with a plastic container and a lighter. After grabbing a glass pipe, he sits next to me on the couch. I sit in silence while he lights up and gets high, declining when he offers me some. When he's relaxed enough, he sighs.

"Ask away, Tone Bone."

"Himes, just tell me what happened."

"Well." He thinks for a moment. "I had the night shift yesterday, so I left at, like, six, and I got back at seven this morning. And…and she had packed up all her stuff." He grabs my hand and I squeeze it for moral support.

"So…," he continues. "I was like, 'what are you doing?' Like, I didn't know what to think. And she said those words. Those fucking…she said, 'Jaime, we need to talk.' So that's when I started getting scared. I was like, 'what did I do? I must've done something. What is it?' But she told me it wasn't me. She said that…that _she_ made a mistake. And then she told me to sit down." He laughs sardonically. "Wouldn't you start to freak out if you heard that? Wouldn't you, Tone?"

"Well, yeah, Himes," I assure him.

"Exactly. And I'm pretty sure I was hyperventilating, like, I was freaking the fuck out. And her face…." He closes his eyes and swallows. "She looked so guilty. I…I need a drink."

He stands up and walks into the kitchen while I call, "What happened to sobriety?"

He laughs at that. "Oh, what a joke. Wait until you hear."

I furrow my eyebrows. Hear what? By the time he returns with a bottle of whiskey, I'm on the edge of my seat.

"That sobriety thing?" he says, unscrewing the cap and taking a long swig. "Bullshit. She's such a…god, okay. Let me…." He takes another drink and a deep breath.

He says, "So I sat down. It was so fucking tense, Tone. I just had to know what was wrong, but she wasn't telling me. She was scared out of her mind, like, I think she thought I was going to hit her. Which I would never do, obviously. Then finally, she started talking. I won't bore you with the details. The important thing is…."

He trails off, gripping the neck of the bottle and swallowing, his face pale. I squeeze his hand and ask softly, "What was it, Jaime?"

He snaps out of it. "She's p-pregnant, Tone. With…she says it's not mine."

"Holy shit," I breathe. "I…I'm going to fucking kill that bitch."

Abruptly, he throws his arms around my neck. "Don't say that, please," he whispers and hugs me tightly, burying his face in my neck, some of his whiskey sloshing onto the couch. "Just…it was so bad, Tony. The way she said it. I thought…I thought I was going to be a dad. Like, I want kids eventually, you know? I know I'm not ready, but I thought maybe this would help me grow up, 'cause god knows I'm not the most mature guy ever. I thought Zoe and I…I thought we were going to get hitched and raise our kid. And I was so okay with that, like, I was ready. I was going to say, 'let's get married.' But then she told me it wasn't even mine."

He hugs me tighter and I can't do anything but hold him while he drinks and shrivels into me. I was never Zoe's biggest fan, but I liked her. She made Jaime so happy, and she was pretty enough for him, and she didn't try to change him like his last girlfriend did. But honestly, I'm not surprised that she would lie like this. I'm pissed as hell, but not surprised. I guess that's indicative that she was never good for him in the first place.

"I love you, Tony," Jaime says into my neck. "You won't get knocked up with some kid's seed and run off with him, will you?"

I chuckle, because even though he's sad, Jaime is still funny. "No, Himes. I won't do that."

He sighs. "It just sucks that we're both heartbroken, you know? There's Zoe, and there's Mike. It's almost worse for you since you didn't even get to fuck him."

"Well, I wasn't in love with Mike. I think you have it worse," I say, and then bite my lip. "Jaime…do you want to know a secret? I don't know if it'll make you feel better, but it might."

"When do I _not_ want to hear a secret?" he snorts. I pat his back and laugh.

"Yeah, I guess you _are_ gossip girl."

"Shut up. Now what is it?"

I take a deep breath. "Well, I may have lied about certain things."

"What things?" he asks, narrowing his eyes.

"Mike," I admit. "You know that time I bought him a drink?"

Jaime pulls back and looks at me suspiciously. "Yeah…."

"Well, he had said before that he had an idea for how I could pay off my debt. He got me drunk, and then he…he said he'd cut five dollars off for every time I fucked him. Er, every time _he_ fucked _me_ , rather."

Jaime gasps. "No fucking way, Tone Bone!"

I smile awkwardly. "Yeah."

"Dude, why didn't you fucking tell me?" he exclaims.

"Because I didn't want you telling someone," I reply honestly. "I know you wouldn't on purpose, but if you were drunk or high, maybe you would."

"No, dude. Come on. I have a pretty good filter."

"Well, you know now anyway, so it doesn't really matter."

"I guess. So have you fucked?"

"Yeah." A little smugly, I say, "Ten times."

"Ten?!" he roars. "So if it's five for every fuck, you're at…uh…."

"Two hundred," I offer.

"Yeah. Sorry, I'm too high for math." He smiles gratefully, and after a moment, starts laughing.

"What?" I ask.

"Tony, he, like…is paying you for sex. Oh, god. You know what that makes you?"

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I'm a prostitute." After a moment, I add, "But only for him."

"Aw, how romantic," he beams. "Anyway, tell me about him. Is he super kinky?"

"Not really," I confess.

Jaime gapes. "You're kidding. He's not kinky?"

"Well, I'm sure he _has_ kinks, I just don't really know any of them. He's just…like, _dominant_. That's mainly it."

"Does he make you call him sir? Or daddy?"

I laugh. "No."

Sir. That would be kind of hot.

Jaime climbs off of me and sets his bottle of whiskey on the table. Then, he pulls his phone out of his pocket.

"Give me your phone for a sec," he demands. I ask him why, but he takes the liberty of reaching into my pocket himself and pulling it out.

"What are you doing?" I ask warily. He holds his finger to his lips and clicks around on my phone for a few seconds before typing something on his. Then, he sits back and sighs, tossing me my phone back.

"We," he declares, "are going to find out his kinks."

"What the fuck did you do?" I ask in horror.

"Relax," Jaime says easily.

"Easy for you to say. You're fucking high."

He defends, "I'm only a little high."

"You just had whiskey."

"That has nothing to do with being high." He inhales deeply (just air, not weed). "I texted Mike from my number so that it's anonymous. I asked him what his kinks are."

"Jaime!" I groan. "He'll probably connect it to me somehow. God. You shouldn't do stupid shit when you're not sober."

He rolls his eyes. "Dude, I would've done it if I was sober anyway."

"You're an ass," I grumble.

His phone vibrates, and I instantly hop over to see what it says.

_Who is this?_

Jaime grins, but it only half-reaches his eyes. That much is to be expected. He kind of just got dumped by a supposedly fantastic girl he loves. I'm surprised he's asking me about my ex-fuck-buddy and not whining and eating ice cream. He must just want the distraction.

"What should I say?" he asks me. "Should I pretend to be someone from the club? The president?"

"Don't say anything," I demand, giving him a pointed look. "Jaime, put the phone down. We shouldn't even be talking about this. We should be talking about that bitch."

Jaime's face drops. "Tone, don't, please. I don't want to be sad. Just for a few minutes. Then, I'll get it all out of my system."

I don't say anything. I don't know what to say. Do I apologize for bringing her up? Do I order that we stop talking about Mike (even though a part of me doesn't want to)? Do I force him to be sad now so that he doesn't have to be sad later? Do I offer him a blowjob?

"Why are you thinking about blowjobs?" Jaime asks, and I nearly choke on my own spit.

"What? How did you—"

"Your blowjob face," he explains. "Whenever you think about blowjobs, the right side of your mouth smiles a little bit and your eyebrows turn up."

I laugh, undoubtedly blushing. "How do you know these things?"

He shrugs. "We've been friends for, like…I don't know. Fuck math. A long time."

His phone vibrates again, and when I look at the message, my stomach lurches in half-embarrassment and half-excitement.

_Lots, btw. Ropes, gags, begging, dry-humping, etc. But I'm the one who does the tying, js~_

Jaime laughs, and it seems genuine. "Tone, I hope you're into bondage."

"Shut up," I grumble, even though I'm secretly imagining Mike tying me down. I wouldn't exactly object. I've never done it before, but it seems hot.

"So when was the last time you fucked?" Jaime asks casually. I count in my head and then answer.

"Six days."

"Damn. So when will the next time be?"

I cough and smile clumsily. "Uh, never."

"What?!" he shrieks. "Why the fuck not? What would—oh. It's the girlfriend, isn't it?"

"Sort of," I verify.

He crosses his legs and leans back. "Well, what's her story? He got a girlfriend and broke it off? Or, she's not new and you found out about her and _you_ broke it off?"

"Neither," I divulge. "I, um…I found out the first time we fucked 'cause he had one of her thongs by his bed. I was kind of thinking it was just someone's from a one-night-stand, which would've been fine, so I don't know why I even asked him."

Jaime grins deviously. "It's because you were jealous."

"I wasn't jealous, Himes," I protest, but it's a lie. I was totally jealous, and I still am. Fuck me.

I continue, "So, yeah, he said it was his girlfriend's, which I really wasn't expecting. And obviously I kind of have a pretty good conscience, so I tried to break it off with him. I didn't want to mess up their relationship, you know?"

"Right," Jaime nods. His eyes widen and he sways a little. "Fuck, there's the whiskey."

"You okay, dude?"

"Yeah, I'm good." He rests his head on my shoulder. "Keep going with your story."

"Okay. Well, uh…I tried to leave, but he threatened me."

"He _threatened_ you?" Jaime gapes.

"Nothing bad," I assure him. "He said that if I broke it off, he'd tell Austin about the whole coke thing."

"Wait," Jaime interrupts. "So while this shit was happening, you had already fucked once, right?"

"Yeah," I confirm. "We had barely gotten our pants back on."

Jaime laughs and wraps his arms around me. "Oh, Tone Bone. You slut."

I grab the whiskey from the table and take a sip. It burns on the way down, but it's not like I'm not used to that.

"So, Mike, he told me it wasn't a big deal. He said he was only with her for the sex and she was only with him to show him off. He said they don't love each other." I take another drink and say bitterly, "Obviously _that_ was a lie."

"What makes you think it was a lie?" Jaime asks, furrowing his eyebrows.

I point out, "They said it to each other at the club. You heard them."

"Just because they said it doesn't mean it's true," Jaime says wisely. He has a point, but I'm not sure that I believe him.

I sigh, "I don't know."

"Do you really think Mike loves her? I mean, he was kind of pissed that she was there," he cites. I frown.

"Well, I don't know if he's even capable of love. So maybe not, but I think he must be pretty damn close if he's able to tell her he does."

"Or," says Jaime. "Or, he doesn't love her at all, so he feels no remorse telling her he does."

I get quiet after that. His explanation is actually pretty plausible, even though he's caught halfway between a falling high and a building buzz. Still, I can't bring myself to accept it. What kind of crazy fucker wouldn't love Krista? She's a tiny ball of cute and kindness.

"It's not important," I finally say. "I believed him when he said they didn't love each other, so we kept fucking. But then I actually met Krista and I couldn't do it anymore."

"'Cause you think that at the very least, she loves him," Jaime finishes for me. I nod. "But how do you even know that?"

"Well, she said it," I retort.

"But like I said before, saying it doesn't mean shit. Great, she said it. But how do you know she means it?"

When I can't think of anything better to say, I groan, "Well, who wouldn't fucking love him?"

Jaime says nothing, and then pulls a shit-eating grin.

"What?" I snap.

"Oh, Tone," he laughs. "You love him, don't you?"

The question stuns me and I'm rendered speechless while I stare at him. It's something I've thought about before, but only late at night when I'm tired enough that I could nod off at any moment. Do I love Mike? It's something that I've always fallen asleep before reaching a conclusion to.

I've never been in love before, I know that much. I've never even had a real relationship aside from my high school girlfriend. I've had flings and dumb crushes, but never a relationship, and never love.

So how do I know?

"I don't know," I tell Jaime truthfully. "But I'm getting there."

I know that much is true. What the fuck else would it be that has me looking forward to getting just a glimpse of him? It's way past lust by now.

Jaime accepts my answer and grabs the whiskey from me, taking a good swig.

"I'm ready to be sad now," he announces, curling tighter around me. I rub his back while he sighs.

"Do you want to talk about it or something?" I ask. I'm not too good at the whole comfort thing, but I'm pretty sure that's what you're supposed to do.

"No," Jaime tells me. "Not right now. I'm just going to be all emo and think and you're just going to sit there and keep rubbing my back because that feels really fucking good."

I laugh. "Okay, Himes."

"But," he adds. "I might want to talk later, so don't fall asleep. We've got to get all the sad out of me today. Tomorrow is Oli's birthday party, and we're going to go to his party and have a good time. Can you handle that?"

"I'll do my best," I offer.

"Good," he sniffs. "Now shut up and have some whiskey, 'cause you're sad too."

He brings the bottle to my lips and I sip some. That's how it goes for the rest of the night—he holds onto me and lets out heartbreaking sighs every now and then until he declares that he's good and he never wants to talk about Zoe again. Then, we fall asleep on the couch while the TV plays in the background. Despite it actually being a really shitty, awful night, it's okay for both of us because we're constant in each other's lives, and that's all we really need to survive.


	18. Chapter 18

By the time we're knocking on Oli's friend's door, you would have no idea how sad Jaime was yesterday. He's his usual hyper self, except he fully intends to drink today, and if you try to ask him about 'that bitch,' all questions will be redirected to yours truly.

The guy who owns this house is named Max and he has speech patterns just like Josh's. He lets us in and hands us beers and shrieks something about having a good time before disappearing. I only know two things about Max: he's pint-sized, and his appetite for partying is not. He's been to the club a few times, but he's not regular enough to have a tab or be allowed into VIP.

Jaime immediately pulls me over to the bar, which is really just three card tables pushed together and covered with various types of alcohol. He asks me to mix him something, so I comply without really thinking about it. I have something he said earlier on my mind.

If Mike threatened me into sleeping with him the first time I tried to get out of it, why didn't he the next?

Jaime brought it up on the car ride over here. He said it casually as he flipped through my CDs as if it were something trivial, like the weather. I guess it's not really a huge deal, but it puzzles me. He put up such a fight the first time. He stopped me from leaving until he got his way. The second time, he just let me leave. He wasn't overjoyed about it, but he let me. What does that mean?

Does it mean he got bored of me? I wasn't worth the fight because I wasn't that much fun anymore? It would make sense, actually. Jaime used to always say that sex is like pizza—even when it's bad, it's still pretty good. So maybe Mike kept me around because I was available and I got him off even if it wasn't great. Then, when I wanted out, he thought, fuck it, I can find someone better. That must be it. I mean, the sex was fantastic for me, but Mike is a sex god, so he knew exactly what to do to make me come undone, whereas I have way less experience and probably made him work just to get himself off.

I shouldn't feel so bad about it. It means he won't bother me anymore, and I'll be way less likely to give in if he asks. Which he won't. So I'm good.

It's good, isn't it?

"What do you call this one?" Jaime asks me as I hand him his drink. He takes a sip and shudders. "Ay, caramba."

"It's called salsa. Shay and I invented it. It's supposed to make you want to dance."

"Ah, fuck," he sighs. "I'll be dancing like a whore in ten minutes, won't I?"

"Probably," I chuckle.

"Well," he says bluntly. "Fuck it, then." He downs the rest. "You should mix a few more of those and leave them here. See whoever's dumb enough to grab random drinks."

"Good plan," I grin. I start to mix some when Josh comes up behind us.

"Hey!" He claps us on the shoulders. "Jaime and Tony, right? What's up?"

"Tony's mixing some crazy juice," Jaime informs him.

"Oh, yeah. You're a bartender, right?"

"Mhm," I mumble, focused on pouring the right amount of tequila.

"Dude, I have an idea," says Josh. "So you know how to mix some crazy shit, right? We should get some people to do Russian Roulette with shots. You're not allowed to look at what you get, so half will have beer and half will have whatever nice recipes are in that brain of yours." He knocks me on the head and I accidentally spill some tequila. "Whoops. Sorry. Anyway, how does that sound?"

Jaime answers for both of us with an enthusiastic 'yeah!'

So that's how I find myself ten minutes later with a circle of half-drunks around me and an arsenal of drinks and cups that I get to pour.

"Round one," says Josh in a deep announcer voice. "What's this one called, Tony?"

"Salsa," I fill in.

"Salsa!" he repeats. We decided to change the rules a little so it's kind of like musical chairs. I pour one tonic and the rest are beers. The cups are shuffled and passed around so that everyone gets one. If you look at your drink, you're disqualified. Whoever gets the tonic has to sit out for the rest of the game.

Josh counts down, and then everyone drinks. Some guy I don't recognize coughs, wipes his mouth, and grins.

"And Jon is out!" Josh announces. "Tony, what are the effects of this one?"

"Uncanny need to dance."

Jon groans, but smiles, then stands, waves, and slips into the huge mess of bodies in the living room.

By round five, there are still about twenty people left. Jaime disappeared a couple of rounds ago, probably feeling the salsa.

"Round five," Josh booms, maintaining his dramatic voice. "And this one is…."

"The silver spike," I finish. I pour the beers first, and then grab the vodka. But while I'm pouring, I make the mistake of looking up.

There's Mike Fuentes, leaning up against the doorway, folding his arms and watching me with a faint smile on his face. I shouldn't be surprised that he's here. He's probably better friends with Oli than I am. When I stare at him for a moment too long, I snap my gaze back to the drink I'm making and realize I poured way too much.

"Fuck," I mutter, deciding to down what I poured and start over. It's probably the equivalent of two shots, so I'll definitely be feeling something pretty soon.

Once all the drinks are passed around, Josh counts down and everyone drinks. This time, Lee gets the tonic and shakes his head to get rid of the burn.

"And Mr. Malia is gone," Josh booms. "Tony, the side effects?"

"If for some reason you decide to run, you'll be fast. And survey says it's good with molly."

"Alright. Round…what is this, six?"

"Yup," I confirm. "We'll do a goose chase."

"Sounds interesting," says Josh. "Effects?"

"Nothing unusual, it'll just give you an awful hangover."

"Ooh, you evil genius. Alright, pour 'em, Tony."

"Hey," chuckles Oli, coming into the room. "Quit flirting, Josh."

He sits behind Josh and pulls him onto his lap. The two share a sickeningly cute kiss while I pass around the drinks. I'm painfully aware of Mike watching me, but I make a point of not looking at him. I don't know why he's doing this. It's probably just to make me uncomfortable, which is stupid. He should be dancing or drinking or fucking somebody, not staring at me like a creep. But he is, and it's making me squirm, so he must be getting something out of it.

Oli and Josh break off their kiss so that Josh can play ref, and we watch everyone's reactions to see who got the bomb. It ends up being Hayley Williams.

Ten rounds later, Oli and Josh are making out between every shot, and Mike is still fucking watching me. He's being really obvious about it, too. He doesn't look away when we make eye contact, and he's standing in the same place up against the doorframe. It's really hard for me not to look at him. From my position, I can't see him in my peripheral vision, so I have to physically tilt my head up to check if he's still there, but I don't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing I'm concerned with his whereabouts.

Knowing him, he thinks I'm checking him out and I want to fuck him. That's a little true, but mainly, it's just awkward. He's such an arrogant dick. I'm trying to have a good time at this party, yet here he is with his eyes and his lips and of fucking _course_ he forgot to shave this morning, so he has that little bit of stubble that drives me crazy and makes me want to run my hands all over his face and kiss him. What a douchebag.

"Happy birthday by the way," I say to Oli when he's not sucking on Josh's mouth.

"Thanks," he grins. "Glad you came. A few people said they love your drinks."

"Oh, that's good," I nod awkwardly. I get all the drinks ready for the next round and then pass them out.

Finally, the numbers dwindle until we're at the last two. It's Alex Gaskarth and some guy I don't know with messy black hair. They've got game faces on, but laugh at each other every now and then while I pour the last two drinks.

Josh has given up announcing by now; he and Oli are furiously making out and are both half-hard, so it's up to me to do the talking.

"Alright, final round," I tell them. "Obviously. So this one's called The Bourget, named after my old buddy Shayley. You are guaranteed to go wild. The recipe is ultra-secret, so absolutely no looking." While they cover their eyes and giggle, I add, "Your hangover will suck, by the way."

They've each had twenty-four shots of beer, which amounts to about a can and a half. It's not much, but they were half-drunk when we started, so it's enough to give them the giggles. I mix up the drinks behind my back and then slide them forward.

"No looking," I remind them. They each grab their cups and drink. Once they're done, the other guy coughs while Alex cheers.

"And Alex is the winner," I declare. He beats his chest and then grabs the other guy and kisses his cheek. We've accumulated a bit of an audience, so he's not the only one cheering. He gets a load of high-fives and pats on the back before he turns to me.

"What's my prize?" he asks giddily.

"Uh, I don't know. I'll make you a drink."

"In that case, I want a salsa. I feel like dancing."

"Sure." I pour the ingredients and then hand it to him. He drinks it all in one go.

"Oh," pants Josh, breaking away from his boyfriend. "Is the game over?"

I laugh and nod.

"I think we should go upstairs, yeah, Josh?" Oli asks in a low voice. I've never seen two people rush away so quickly before.

I chat with a few people as I clean up until everyone leaves me alone and I start carrying the stuff back to the drink table. I haven't forgotten about Mike, but I haven't checked on him in awhile, so I'm not sure what happened to him. Then, I feel a hand on my ass and I get a pretty good estimate.

"Hey, you know that super secret drink you just made?" he breathes in my ear. His breath just smells like breath, so I figure he hasn't had anything to drink or smoke. "The Bor-Jay?"

"Bourget," I correct him, ignoring the churning in my stomach and his hand trailing up my spine.

"Yeah, that." He rolls his eyes. "Well, see, I was watching you make it. I know all the ingredients now. I guess that makes it a secret between you and me."

"Actually," I say listlessly, putting the bottle of Gray Goose next to some Elijah Craig. "That was a bullshit drink. I ran out of ideas at twenty, so the last six I made up on the spot."

"Oh," he blinks. He rests his hand on my waist, but I shrug it off. "We shouldn't talk here," he murmurs, and gestures with his head to the back door in the kitchen.

"Then stop talking to me," I tell him, looking at him pointedly. Unfortunately, Mike's gaze is a hard one to meet, but I stand my ground until he sighs.

"Why are you so pissed at me? I didn't do anything."

"Great. Bye."

He looks at me frigidly. "I'll be waiting for you. We're going to talk. Tonight."

Mike whirls around without another word and marches toward the door. Once I'm done putting everything back where I found it, I grab a beer and slip into the crowd. Mike wants to talk to me outside, so instead, I'll find Jaime and see what he's up to.

I'm really not pissed at Mike. That would be stupid. I just don't want to talk to him because he'll try to convince me to sleep with him, and that wouldn't be right. Even if Krista weren't in the picture, it's breaking my contract with Austin, and god knows that's a dangerous thing to do. And anyway, Mike would fuck with my emotions. I really don't need that in my life. I'm basically depressed anyway. While I'm not working, I'm either sleeping or watching TV. I don't know what normal people do, but it can't be that.

Amongst the Nine Inch Nails blasting over the stereo and the dancing bodies around me, I can't fucking find Jaime. I know better than to assume he's fucking somebody upstairs considering he was just barely broken up with. So where the fuck is he?

I'm on my way to check the kitchen when a hand grabs my wrist.

"Great," Mike says. "You're here."

"Ah, fuck," I sigh.

"Let's go outside. It's cold, so no one's out there."

"It's not even cold," I protest.

"It's November."

"It's San Diego."

"Do you see anyone out there, Tony?"

I make the mistake of peering out the door—I only do it to see if he's right, but he takes it as me giving my permission for us to talk as long as no one's out there. And of course, the backyard is empty, so he pulls me through the door and shuts it behind us.

"What do you want?" I groan, defiantly folding my arms. He could make a move on me, but instead, he leans up against the porch railing and folds his arms too.

"I want to talk," he says simply. I still have my beer, so he grabs it out of my hand and takes a sip.

"You're pushing it, Fuentes," I warn. He just smirks and drinks some more.

"Why don't you want to talk to me?" he asks between sips, feigning a pout. It looks really fucking cute, and I have to hold back my smile. "Hm, Perry?"

"You're going to try to fuck me."

"What makes you think I want to fuck you?" he asks. It doesn't really have an emotion in it—he's just asking. It's not innocent, considering what we're talking about and what's been done in the past. Still, it's just a question.

"Well," I retort, unwilling to lower my defenses. "Why the fuck else would you want to talk?"

He chuckles. "Well, first of all, I want to know why the fuck you're so pissed at me. It's because of Krista, right?"

"I'm not even pissed at you," I sigh.

"Then why have you been acting so icy?"

"Because," I scowl. "You won't fucking take no for an answer."

"See? You're pissed."

Quietly, I defend, "No I'm not."

He purses his lips and it makes my stomach flip over. "Looks like I'll have to loosen you up again since you're being so defensive." He hands me my beer. "I'll be right back. I'll get us some real drinks. Don't leave, okay? I won't try anything. We're going to talk, like I said."

He seems sincere, so I stay put while he goes inside, even though I'm not sure that it's him I'm worried about. I hop up on the porch railing and sigh. I shouldn't even be talking to him. Mike is really, really bad for me in more ways than one. Still, I don't really want to leave. I want to hear what he has to say, even if it'll piss me off or tempt me or break my heart or leave me closer to love than I've ever been. It all sounds scary, but I'll deal with whatever comes.

Mike returns a few minutes later with two plastic cups.

"It's The Bourget," he grins. I roll my eyes.

"I told you that's a bullshit drink."

He shrugs. "Should be interesting anyway." He hops up beside me and we tap our cups together. "Cheers," he mutters. I down about half before clearing my throat to counter the burn. He just sips his and peers at me.

"So if you're not pissed, then why have you been avoiding me?"

"Because," I breathe. "You'll try to get me to sleep with you."

"So?"

"So, I don't want you to do that."

"Why not?"

I look at him accusingly. "Because I don't want to sleep with you."

He laughs. "Right."

"I don't!"

"You don't, but you do."

I don't respond to his (true) accusation and instead drink some more.

"We don't have to talk about that for now," he offers. "We can talk about something else."

"Like…?" I prompt.

"Like…what's your favorite band?"

The question kind of surprises me, and I have to think about my answer. It's a normal question from an abnormal guy. I'd expect him to ask me what my favorite sex position is or something like that. It makes me realize that I don't really know Mike at all. So maybe I don't love him. How can you love someone you don't know?

"AFI," I answer finally. "They really helped me out in high school."

"What do you mean?" He sips his drink.

"Well…." I bite my lip. "I was pretty depressed. My, uh…my dad died, so it wasn't a great time, and I was a huge loner. Jaime was my only friend. I guess I had a girlfriend, but I was kind of a dick to her," I admit. "I don't know. They just helped me through it." When he doesn't speak for a moment, I add, "Sorry. I didn't mean to bum you out."

"No, you're good," he assures me. "Sorry about your dad."

I shrug it off. "It's cool. We weren't that close or anything." I sip my drink, feeling a little bit of the vodka and beer from earlier. "So, what's your favorite band?"

He smiles brazenly. "Would you kill me if I said Drake?"

"What?" I laugh. "No fucking way. Actually, I can see it. You're such a pimp."

"Hey." He bumps my shoulder playfully. "Can't I like Drake _and_ Slayer?"

"Well, you can, but you're a freak."

He grins. "Damn right I am," he says into his cup; and something about the way he says it makes my cheeks heat up.

After a moment of struggling for things to say, he bumps my shoulder again. "So that kiss with Jaime," he chuckles. "What was that all about?"

"Oh god," I groan.

"Hey, man. It was hot."

I shake my head to hide my blush. "Nope. It was disgusting."

"Really? _I_ would kiss Jaime. I think he's sexy."

I gape at him. "You do?"

He shrugs. "You don't?"

"Well…I don't know. We've been best friends since we were nine. He was just a chubby Mexican boy back then; I guess that's all he's ever been to me."

Mike laughs. "I can totally see that. Did his mom like to embarrass him?"

"All the time," I snort. "She'd leave him notes in his lunch in Spanish, but no one could tease him about it because he was the only one who _knew_ Spanish."

"Aren't you Mexican?" Mike asks me. I nod.

"Yeah, I am, but my Spanish is shit."

"Me too. I know one sentence in French, though."

I sip my drink. "Well, let's hear it."

"Okay. _Oui ou non: est-ce que tu voles les gâteaux des gamins?_ "

He looks at me expectantly and I chew my lip. "Um…oui?"

"You asshole!" he laughs.

"What?" I whine. "What did I say?"

"I asked you if you steal cookies from children."

"Ah, fuck," I sigh. "Well, at least I didn't lie."

He laughs again and says in a playful voice, "Tony, you bad boy."

"Well, you didn't have to make it like that," I mumble.

"Hey," he defends. "It's what I'm about. Sex, drugs, and rock & roll."

"And shitty rap," I add. "And taking cookies from children."

"No, that part's you. I'm sex, drugs, and shitty rap. You're beer, cookie-thieving, and platonic kisses with your best friend Jaime."

"You're a dick," I complain.

"The biggest," he says cockily before finishing off his drink. "Want a refill?"

I down the rest of mine and hand him my empty cup.

He winks. "Be right back."

I audibly, and very dramatically, sigh once he's gone. I'm almost worse off than when I started this night out. Mike is fucking funny and interesting and sexy and I hate it. The worst part is, he's only talking to me like this so that he can get into my pants. I know it. I've seen the act a thousand times: horny boy tricks gullible, boring girl into thinking he likes her personality when he actually likes her rack. I, of course, am the gullible boring girl (even though I don't have a rack), and he's winning this game. It doesn't help that I'm developing a buzz and pretty soon my penis will stop listening to my brain entirely. I just hope that I'll leave with at least a shred of dignity.

Mike returns just a couple minutes later with our cups and hands me mine.

"Jack and coke," he informs me, hopping up on the railing again. We're closer this time—our thighs and shoulders are touching. I can't bring myself to scoot away, and I hate myself for it.

"What'd I miss?" he asks, sipping his drink. I shrug.

"A band of thieves passed by and mugged me, but that's about it."

"Ah, so nothing too interesting."

"Nope."

He laughs and nudges me. "Drink. It's a party."

"So how long will we be sitting out here like losers, then?" I ask him, but I drink anyway. He grins.

"You say that like you're bored, Perry."

"Well, maybe I am," I quip.

"Hm…I don't think that's so." He studies me with a smirk on his face, but the last drink is starting to get to me and it hardly fazes me.

I yawn. "Think what you want. You're not all that great."

"Ouch." He bumps our shoulders. "You hurt my feelings, Tony." He pouts, and it's the cutest fucking thing I've ever seen, so I have to look away.

"Put a band-aid on it," I tease.

"How about you kiss it better?"

Yeah. Saw that coming.

"How about you grow some balls?"

He laughs. "I have some. You've seen them."

I mutter, "Touché," while he grins at me. And then he bites his lip and sets his drink down. My stomach lurches once I realize what he's about to do. "Don't kiss me," I warn him.

Quietly, he defends, "I won't." But he brings a hand up to my cheek and touches my skin and I have to swallow hard to get rid of the lump in my throat.

"I mean it, Mike."

His eyes flick up to my eyes and then my lips before he puts his other hand around the nape of my neck. Shivers fall where he traces his fingers.

"I _won't_ ," he practically whispers, tilting his head and just staring at my lips. It really fucking kills me, being this close and having to resist kissing him or touching him. There's his mouth, with the lip ring that rubs my lips raw, and the stud on his philtrum that you can feel if you kiss him forcefully enough. There's his waist, that's tiny but toned and firm and he lets me hold it however I want. His ass, his hair, his legs…I want all of it.

"Hmm," he murmurs. "What is…your…favorite animal?"

"Favorite animal?" I repeat, looking warily at his lips.

He traces his fingers down my neck. "Mhm."

"Um…." I swallow again. "I don't know. A turtle, maybe."

He grins and leans in a little closer. "Cute. I like giraffes."

"Uh…." My voice shakes. "That's cool."

"Don't be nervous, princess," he mumbles. He leans in again so that our noses are touching. "I won't kiss you."

"Good," I insist. He smiles, because he knows I want it. I want _him_ , and it isn't a fucking secret.

"Yeah, yeah, good. So…what's your favorite color?"

I open my mouth to speak, but then suddenly, his lips are on me, and they're moving compellingly. I try to pull away, but he's holding me in place with his hands, and soon, it becomes too hard to resist.

I close my eyes, and I fucking kiss Mike Fuentes.

He slips his tongue into my mouth and swirls it around mine, and that's what triggers my hands reaching for his face. I have to hold him there so that he doesn't escape. I won't let him pull away, because then, he'll make fun of me for being so easy. I'll have to deal with that in a minute, but I'll be damned if I won't try to drag this out.

So I lap at his lower lip and run my fingers across his prickly face while he explores the inside of my mouth. It's not a sweet kiss. Mike wants to fuck me, and maybe I'll let him. Maybe. But for now, I want to kiss him because it makes me feel so many dumb things and I fucking like it.

He breaks the kiss for a moment to hop down from the railing. He grabs my wrists and pulls me down too, then presses me up against the house. I can feel the bass pumping against the façade, but I can't see what Mike looks like right now—amused? Smug? Happy?—because he's already leaning back in. Before he can say anything, I gasp out, "I thought you said you wouldn't kiss me."

"I lied," he says huskily before reattaching our lips. He pins me down by pressing his whole form against me so that I'm trapped. Frankly, I don't mind. I grab his hips while he grips my face and sucks on my lips. He bites me a little, and then licks it to counter the pain. I have to hold back a whimper when he does it again, because something about that really makes my dick happy.

He pushes his hips into mine a few times, and I feel myself growing hard against him. God, if we're going to fuck upstairs, I'll feel so slutty. But why shouldn't we fuck? I want it. He wants it. We've both had some alcohol, and we can use that as an excuse if it comes down to it.

Just as Mike grabs onto my waist, the back door swings open, and he jumps off of me faster than I can even process. My eyes fall on Jaime, and we're all three feet away from each other.

"What?" I ask in annoyance. Mike smirks at that. But then I notice how distressed Jaime looks.

"Tone, we have to go. Now."

"What's wrong, Himes?"

"She's here. She's fucking here."

Zoe's here? That fucking bitch! She breaks up with Jaime, and then decides to show up at one of his friend's parties in the same week?

"Go wait in the car, Jaime," I command, setting my jaw.

"Don't talk to her, please. I just want to leave. Please, Tone."

He looks so frantic and desperate, and it breaks my heart, but I know what I have to do.

I tell him gently, "Just get in the car, Jaime," and he nods sadly and slips away. Mike and I study each other for a moment until I find my voice. "I have to go." And then I tack on, "This was a mistake."

"A mistake?" he asks incredulously. "We didn't even do anything! _And_ we didn't even talk!"

"There's nothing to talk about. And anyway, that only proves my point." I give him a steely gaze to show him that I'm not messing around anymore.

Because it's stupid. Was I really going to sleep with Mike thirty seconds ago? I'm not a cheater like Zoe. I can't call her out on her shit if I stoop to her level. So I won't. Not anymore.

"Come on, Tony. Go give Jaime your keys and I'll drive you back to my place."

"No," I growl. "You're not going to fuck me, especially not when Jaime's scared out of his mind because that bitch—god. Never mind. I'll see you at work next week."

"We have to at least talk, Tony," he tries to tell me, but I'm already gone, inside the house, scanning for that familiar swish of dark hair.

Mike doesn't follow me, which I'm glad for. I don't want to deal with two annoying brunettes. After a few minutes of searching, I find Zoe sitting on the stairs with a cup in her hand.

"I hope that's water, _mom_ ," I sneer at her. She smiles shamefacedly and swishes her cup around.

"Hey, Tony," she says. "It's apple juice, don't worry." Quieter, she says, "Can you please not mention that I'm…."

"Knocked up?" I finish. She narrows her eyes at me, but nods.

"Fine," I say. "What are you doing here?"

With a bit of ice in her tone, she says, "I'm here because Josh invited me."

"Why the fuck would he invite you?"

She rolls her eyes. "We're friends from high school, o great interrogator."

I furrow my eyebrows. "What? How old is he?"

"Nineteen, I think. Does it matter?"

I fold my arms. "No. I was just wondering."

"Great. So what do you want?"

I sigh in annoyance. "I _want_ for you to stay the fuck away from Jaime, and me too, for that matter. If you know what's good for you, you won't go anywhere you think he _might_ be. And if I ever see you again, you're going to regret ever even meeting him."

She's unfazed. "What, so you want me to leave?"

"No. Jaime and I are leaving, since his night is as good as ruined after seeing you."

"Well, no need to be so dramatic."

"You _broke_ him, Zoe," I snarl. "If you don't watch your mouth, I'll break you."

She snorts. "Alright, baby-puncher. Get going. Just so you know, I _do_ feel bad about it, but I don't like you, so you might as well just leave."

"Watch your fucking back," I scowl to the annoying brunette. As I'm turning toward the door, I hear the other annoying brunette.

"That was hot!" Mike calls.

As much as I want to punch them both, I won't hit a girl, let alone a pregnant girl, and there's no chance in hell I could take Mike in a fight. So instead, I ignore him and reach for the door, ready to scream but preparing to comfort Jaime.

Those fuckers are damn lucky I don't want to cause a scene.


	19. Chapter 19

Mike doesn't give me any trouble for eleven days. It takes him eleven days to make a move. And of course, he chooses my first week back at work.

And it's a fucking busy one. I don't know why everyone decided to come to the club today; it's just a Sunday. In fact, I'm pretty sure it's Thanksgiving weekend (unless that was last week). But I guess the people who come to illegal hardcore clubs aren't exactly the type to sit around a table with their families to eat turkey.

Because it's so hectic, Austin elected Oli to work at the bar with me. Today was supposed to be Jordan's first week off in four weeks, but they called him in anyway, and promised him an extra hundred bucks. He doesn't seem all that happy to be here, but he must need the money, because he's faithfully carrying drinks up and down the stairs while Oli and I pour and keep track of tallies.

Jaime isn't here tonight. He says that Oli's party exhausted him, and he wants to take a week off of social stuff to be sad. I'm not complaining; it's healthy for him to deal with his emotions rather than drinking and partying like I would probably do. He told me to keep his tab closed—he's not sober anymore, but he thinks it'll encourage him to drink less, which is also healthy. He'll just have to pay up front when he gets drinks here, which Alan likes better.

It's just past two AM, when the night is winding down, when my phone vibrates. Aaron is blasting some classic Alice Cooper for the remaining people to dance to. Oli is pouring himself some wine and claiming that he's 'bloody sophisticated,' which is hilarious considering he's rapping Snoop Dogg under his breath.

I pull my phone out just as Jordan leaves. I figure it's Jaime telling me something he saw on TV.

But I'm wrong. It's a text from Mike.

_2:12 AM – Hey_

I furrow my eyebrows. 'Hey?' What the fuck? I'm about to ignore him and put my phone away when it vibrates again.

_2:12 AM – You look bored. And sexy ;)_

Now, I roll my eyes and put my phone away for real. Here he is, trying to flirt with me over text. At work. Does he really think he can get me flustered and blushing with words on a screen? The only reason he has gotten me rattled before is that he has a nice face and voice. A few characters on his phone have no power over me, especially since I decided not to fuck him.

A few minutes later, it vibrates again. I want to ignore it, but I'm also curious to see what it says. It's not like I'm going to respond.

_2:19 AM – I'm bored. Entertain me_

"Who's texting you?" Oli asks lazily from his seat on top of the counter. The night burned out an hour ago, so we both agreed we probably won't get any more customers.

"Uh…Jaime," I lie.

"Ah." Oli sips some of his wine. "What does he want?"

"He's, uh…he's just bored."

"Why are you ignoring him, then?"

This part I don't have to lie about, even if it has nothing to do with Jaime. "He's annoying, and if I respond, he'll never stop."

Oli chuckles. "Real nice friendship you've got there."

"Well," I shrug. "He _is_ annoying. That doesn't mean he's not my best friend."

"Hmm. True," Oli mumbles, and then goes back to his horrible rapping.

_2:20 AM – Tony :(_

I almost laugh at this one. I know he's just joking around, but it's funny to see Mike acting like he depends on anyone else. If you gave him playboy magazines, weed, and an endless supply of tacos, he would be just fine having no human contact for the rest of his life.

_2:20 AM – I wish we weren't at work. I would do so many things to you_

_2:21 AM – Do you want to know what things?_

And suddenly, it's not funny anymore. I'll kill him if he tries to sext me. I type out a quick 'fuck off' and put my phone on the counter. He replies almost instantly, and it's my curiosity that doesn't let me ignore it.

_2:21 AM – I'll take that as a yes_

Oh my god. This asshole. He's about to send me a dirty text. What does he hope to get out of this? It's not like he knows I'll read them. I don't have to. And even if I do, what the fuck will come of that? It probably won't even turn me on. I'm not some horny teenage boy who gets a boner just seeing the word 'sex.' I have long since gotten my hormones under control. I don't even jack off that often. Mike's texts won't do shit for me.

_2:23 AM – Well, first, I'd press you down onto the mattress. You'd spread your legs, I'd sit between them, and massage your thighs_

_2:23 AM – You'd like that, wouldn't you?_

_2:24 AM – You'd still be wearing your jeans, mind you, and I'd ease all the tension out of those sexy little muscles you have_

Oh.

Maybe I was wrong.

I do my best to keep my imagination under control, but it's difficult with triggering words like 'mattress' and 'massage,' not to mention the fact that I haven't had sex in weeks. I get a lump in my throat just thinking about it. And then I realize that my pants have tightened just a little, and I curse under my breath. Fuck Mike. Seriously, fuck him. He is such a massive fucking dick.

_Stop_ , I type out in my frustration. I only have half-hopes of him actually stopping, but maybe he'll at least say something like 'sleep with me and I'll stop,' and then I can lie and say that I'll think about it. Honestly, if I were to actually consider it, I have no doubts that I'd decide on a 'yes' and Mike probably knows that. That's why it's a good plan; he won't risk pissing me off with more texts, and I get some time to 'think about it,' during which he'll leave me alone. Then, I can tell him I decided not to. Foolproof.

Of course, it'll only work if Mike asks me to sleep with him, which he doesn't.

_2:26 AM – Am I turning you on?_

That's when I slam the phone down and turn away from it defiantly. It vibrates incessantly until Oli tells me he'll shove it up my ass if I don't answer it.

_2:27 AM – Well then, my hands would get higher and higher until I was palming you, and you'd fuck yourself against my hand because you'd be so horny and you wouldn't be able to help yourself_

_2:28 AM – I wouldn't even have to move my hand. You'd do all the work, and it would still feel so fucking good, wouldn't it?_

_2:30 AM – And you'd beg me to help you get off, but I would pull my hand away_

_2:30 AM – I'd kiss your throat instead_

_2:31 AM – And you'd whimper like a good little slut_

I groan in aggravation, even though my pants tighten further. I'm pissed off, but it's a really, _really_ good fantasy, and I can't stop myself from thinking about it. I don't know about the massage part, but Mike would definitely do those other things, and he'd be great at it. Great enough to make me whimper, just like he said. And the fact that he's right makes me even angrier.

_STOP_ , I send him, refraining from adding a billion exclamation points like a child. He would just laugh at that. He'll laugh anyway, but this way, I don't look completely ridiculous.

_2:33 AM – Getting a little heated, are you?_

_2: 34 AM – Do you want to know what I'd do next?_

_No_ , I type instantly, even though I expect he'll ignore it.

_2:36 AM – Great_

_2:37 AM – Next, I'd lie on top of you and grind my hips into yours_

_2:38 AM – And you would be so fucking turned on that you'd moan every time our cocks brushed_

_2:40 AM – You love my cock, don't you?_

_I hate you and your cock,_ I type irately. Oli is looking at me strangely by now, and I have to stand right up against the counter to hide my boner. That creates more problems for me, considering the contact with the wood makes me want to thrust into it. I'm not stupid enough to do that, but I'm aching because of it.

_2:41 AM – I like your cock_

_2:41 AM – I bet it's so hard right now_

_2:42 AM – Mine is_

_2:42 AM – I want you so bad, Tony_

That's the sentence that makes me furiously press the 'call contact' button. I want to scream at him. I want to rip his fucking head off.

"Hello?" he says casually into the receiver. I can hear the noise of the club in the background, and I can tell he's trying not to laugh.

"Stop texting me," I roar. He just chuckles.

"I'm having so much fun, though."

I roll my eyes. "Do your fucking job. I'm hanging up now."

"Wait, wait!" he says. "One more question."

"What?" I snap.

"What are you wearing?"

I hang up, cutting off the sound of him laughing. It infuriates me how I have no control; how he won't leave me alone. Nothing I can do will make him stop, unless I say 'fuck me now,' in which case he'll do what I asked. That, obviously, is not an option, so it looks like I'll have to suffer through this for tonight.

My phone vibrates just a minute after I hang up, and I can't stop myself from checking it.

_2:44 AM – It's okay, I know what you're wearing. I like that t-shirt, but I wish you'd take it off_

I roll my eyes dramatically just because I know he's watching. I don't know from where, but I know he is. Even if I wasn't blind as hell and could actually see ten feet in front of me, I wouldn't look for him. If we made eye contact, he'd put on that smirk and I would absolutely have to beat him until he died. And then I'd probably fuck the corpse, considering how turned on I am.

_2:45 AM – It would be so hot to watch you fuck yourself against the counter_

_2:47 AM – Work with me Tony. Tell me what you want to do to me_

I reply, _I want to rip your fucking head off._

_2:47 AM – That's not very nice :(_

_2:47 AM – Kiss it better?_

_2:48 AM – Kiss it better and I'll fuck you from the front_

I mutter gibberish and press my lower half into the counter. Why, _why_ do I have to get off work in ten minutes? That is not nearly enough time to wait this boner out.

_2:48 AM – I'll fuck you so good_

_2:49 AM – And you'll scream my name for me and you won't be able to walk the next day_

I bite my lip and press into the counter harder. Oli is off in his own world by now, so he doesn't notice, but Mike might. That depends on where he is.

Well, fuck him. I'm so hard and I need my dick to touch something, even if it's just the counter.

_2:50 AM – You know this can be arranged, right?_

_2:50 AM – I can take you home_

_2:51 AM – I can even give you head_

No, no, I really don't need to picture Mike's warm lips and his tongue around my—no. Oh, god, he's such an asshole.

_2:51 AM – Anything you want_

_2:51 AM – I need you Tony_

I remember that I'm pissed off and type, _I need you to fuck off._

This, of course, doesn't faze him, and my phone vibrates again just a second later.

_2:52 AM – You look so hot and bothered_

_2:52 AM – You've got me so horny baby_

Maybe it's that word, or maybe it's just how turned on I am, but either way, I almost groan out loud.

_Fucking stop it, Mike,_ I tap out. _I'm trying to work._

It's a hopeless request, but I'm way too horny to think of something better. There's not enough space left between me and the counter.

_2:53 AM – I don't see any customers_

_2:54 AM – And you get off in 5_

_2:54 AM – I'll find you and we can go back to my place_

I know what he's expecting. He thinks I'll give in and say okay. And god, I want to. I'm pissed off at him, but people take their frustrations out with angry sex all the time.

Except I won't do that. Not with him, anyway. I'm sure I can find someone else after work. Mike is going to have to watch me walk out with someone else. That'll be his punishment.

A few minutes later, Oli hops off the counter.

"Well, that was fun. Guess I'm going back to waiting on these dickheads next week."

"Hey," I say, cursing at the way my voice shakes. "Can you clock out for me?"

"Uh, I guess so. You okay?"

"Oh, yeah." I swallow. "I'm…I'm good."

"Well, okay. Can I see the tab sheet and shit?"

I sigh. I guess I'll have to pull away from the counter now. This won't be fun.

When Oli sees my boner, he starts laughing.

"Oh, man, you have got major wood." He shakes his head. "You didn't have to rub your junk all over the counter."

"Shut up," I groan.

"Now I see why you wanted me to clock out for you. You horny bastard." He grins. "I'll be nice and go over all of this paperwork and shit. I've got a key, so I'll lock up. Go home and wank."

I flip him off, but I'm actually pretty grateful. I'm not in the mood to parade around hard, so I'll just find someone quickly and take them home.

I don't know where Mike is, but my best guess is VIP, so I take a chance and head straight for the crowd by the stage. When I see a familiar face, I grin to myself. This will be perfect.

I tap Sierra on the shoulder and she turns around.

"Hey, Tony," she smiles. "What's up?"

"Want to fuck?" I ask bluntly. Her eyes widen in surprise, and she glances down to my crotch and grins.

"Who turned you on?"

"Not important," I shrug.

She purses her lips and meets my eyes. "You know, you used to be shy."

"Um…sorry?" I try. She just laughs.

"It's okay. I'm glad to be your booty call. Want to get out of here?"

She doesn't wait for my response, and instead just hooks her arm around mine and leads me to the door.

_Get a good look, Mike,_ I think to myself. _I'm going to fuck Sierra, and it's going to be fantastic._

_Take that, dick._


	20. Chapter 20

On December first, I get a knock on my door.

The sky is dark, and I'm watching a Macy's holiday sale commercial on TV. Not willingly, of course. I was watching a Lost rerun, but since I had to get rid of Netflix last night, I've had to deal with commercials.

I hope whoever took my money is happy.

I answer the door in flannel pajama pants, an old Nirvana sweater, and thick socks. It's not exactly cold, considering it's San Diego, but my landlord tricks me into thinking it is by refusing to fix the window in my kitchen. I'm too broke to pay for it myself, and turning on the heater would be pointless, so I drown myself in blankets and sweaters instead.

I wasn't sure who would knock on my door at ten PM, but I probably shouldn't be surprised that it's Mike. And I shouldn't be surprised that he looks pissed.

Mike isn't a vampire, and he doesn't wait for me to invite him in. He sheds his jacket at the door, roughly grabs my wrist, and pulls me deeper into the house. Lost is back on, and as we pass the TV, Mike says, "Good taste." He says it in a cynical way; in a way that's meant to be funny to onlookers, but not to the people involved. If I were seeing it in a movie, I'd laugh. Of course, it's a little different when it's me being pulled into my bedroom while Mike has this angry look on his face.

"What exactly are you doing?" I ask timidly while he shuts the door behind us. He kicks off his shoes and shoves me backward so that I land sitting on my bed.

"What, you thought you could fuck some slut and not have to answer to me?"

He takes his shirt off and I stand up.

"Whoa, Mike, stop," I command. "First of all, you're not the boss of me."

He smiles sardonically and throws his shirt on the floor. "Oh, I'm going to be in about five minutes."

He takes a step toward me, and I instinctively place a hand on his chest to push him backward. "Like hell you are. Put your shirt on."

He pushes me back. "Don't fuck with me, princess." He pushes me one more time, and I fall back on the bed harder. I get right back up.

"Whoa, enough," I say, raising my hands defensively. "If you're here, we're going to at least talk about this like adults. Okay? Can you handle that?"

He folds his arms. "Don't patronize me."

"I wasn't trying to," I assure him. "Now, I just want to know why the fuck you're at my house."

Mike rolls his eyes. "Because I wanted to fuck you yesterday, and you chose that slut over me. Duh."

I bite my lip as I process what he's saying. He's mad that I fucked Sierra instead of him. Okay. But…that's not just being disappointed over his advances failing; you don't get mad because your fuck buddy decided to fuck someone else. That's not how it works, especially since Mike and I stopped sleeping together. He should be a little irritated, maybe, but no, he's _pissed_.

So that means….

"Are…." I let out a little laugh. "Are you jealous?"

"What?" he defends instantly, and very loudly. "No! Don't fucking flatter yourself, Perry. You were just being stupid. You should have been fucking me to get your debt down." He scoffs, but his cheeks are red, and I can't hold back my grin because Mike Fuentes is fucking blushing. "Anyway," he mutters. "I could've made you come twice as hard as that whore."

I fold my arms and grin, basking in the fact that I have the upper hand for once. "I don't know. I came pretty hard."

He rolls his eyes. "Yeah, right. You're just trying to piss me off. It won't work, 'cause I'm not jealous."

"I was just saying," I shrug. "It was a good fuck."

Mike snaps, "Alright, that's it," and he pushes me one last time. Now, he doesn't waste time crawling on top of me and pressing me onto the mattress. My good mood is gone.

"Get off of me," I grunt.

"No. Shut up. If this is the last time, so be it, but I am getting a fuck from you." He grabs my hands and pins them above my head before latching onto my neck with his mouth.

The speed at which I give in is embarrassing. It's embarrassing and pathetic. My speech goes something like this: 'Mike, get o-o—o…oh. Okay.' The fact that he smirks against my neck makes it worse.

God, I'm so easy. Even after I just got off last night.

I know he's going to be rough, and that's why it's surprising when he laces his fingers with mine. It's a complete boyfriend gesture, and that's certainly not what we are to each other.

But I'm not really in a position to complain, even if I minded. Mike has full control now, and that's something he's good at. It's something he's _really_ good at. It's best to keep my mouth shut and let him do what he wants. And what he wants for now is to suck on the skin of my neck.

I turn my head to the side to grant him better access. Neither of us are hard yet, but I can feel where my blood is going. The pressure and warmth of Mike on top of me is a familiar feeling, and it's one my dick knows. It doesn't help that feeling his breath on my skin makes me shiver.

He pulls away and looks at me with dark eyes.

"You know," he says gruffly, still holding onto my hands. "If I had taken you home yesterday, I could've had my way with you in those jeans." He slides his body up, and it gets me a little excited. "Just like I told you about." He murmurs into my ear, "You know, how you'd fuck yourself against my hand?"

My breathing is a little heavy, but I say coolly, "That's okay. Sierra felt me up outside my jeans pretty well."

He rolls his eyes. "That doesn't have the effect on me you're thinking it does."

"No, I think it does."

He nips at the skin of my neck. "What makes you think that?"

"I know what you'd say if it didn't," I tell him frankly. He rolls his hips and hums.

"What would I say, then?"

I bite my lip when he brushes me the right way and fight to release my hands, but he keeps them pinned. "You…," I breathe, my lungs shaking. "You'd say, 'I bet that was hot.'"

"Hmm," he says, looking deep in thought for a moment and slowing his movements. Apparently, he doesn't want to talk about it anymore, because he leans in and attaches our lips, starting his hip motions back up.

Mike slips his thigh between mine and rubs me with it, which causes my pants to tighten significantly. He doesn't even smirk; he just holds my hands tightly and keeps up the action. I moan into his mouth when he slides down and his half-hard cock rubs up against me. He rolls his hips a few times, getting us up even more.

The kiss breaks with a wet pop as he dives for my neck again. He releases my hands, so I latch onto his hips while he grabs my shoulders, running his fingers up and down them. He swipes his tongue over a vein, which has me shivering. I help him guide his hips up and down so that he can focus on my neck, which feels really fucking good because his mouth is so much warmer than the air. He forges a trail from behind my ear to the base of my throat, where he tugs the collar of my shirt with his teeth, taking the hem in his hands.

I lift my back and my arms so that he can remove my shirt. While he casts it aside, I study his familiar inked chest and flat stomach. If this really is the last time (which, at this point, I'm not sure that it will be), I don't want to waste it not being able to see every inch of him.

He lets out this growl while he reattaches himself to me, and it makes my insides erupt in thrills. He rolls his body against mine, and all I want is to make him feel good, because I know he'll return the favor. That's what makes me trail one hand down his back and grab the front of his jeans with the other. I'm not normally so bold; usually with him, I melt like ice and let him have his way with me, so he seems surprised to feel me groping him. That doesn't mean he shows any signs of protest, though. In fact, I cup my hand around his erection and squeeze it a little and he breathes out a 'yeah' into my mouth. For a minute, he pulls back from my face and rocks into my hand. The expression on his face is without a doubt the hottest thing I've ever seen—his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, his eyes boring holes into the skin of my chest. It doesn't take long for me to grow impatient and slide down his zipper.

In no time at all, he's wearing nothing but his gray boxer-briefs. I reach for his cock again, but he swats my hands away, pinning my arms above my head once again. He throws his hips down onto mine and rubs us together furiously, which has me emitting a gasp. Then, he's marking my collarbone, and I do my very best not to moan, but let out this pathetic little whine because _fuck_ he feels so good against me.

He works his way down the center of my chest until he's at the base of my torso, where he dips his nose under the fabric I'm wearing. He pulls my pants and boxers down just enough to take hold of my cock.

"Jesus Christ," I gasp when he slurps me into his mouth unexpectedly. This is the first time he's touched me with anything but his hand, and goddamn does it feel good. He holds my hips while he wraps his mouth around me and bobs down. I groan when his lip ring teases the underside of my tip and he flicks his tongue across the slit. He hollows his cheeks and dives back down to the base, stopping when I'm just about to hit the back of his throat.

Mike hums around me, and that has me reflexively throwing my hips up into him. Clearly, this isn't his first rodeo, as he doesn't gag. Now, though, he holds my hips down firmly to keep me from doing it again.

He sucks hard, and I moan, but then he pulls off, a string of saliva connecting his mouth to my cock. His eyes are dark as he looks at me.

"All of it, off," he commands, gesturing to my pants. I comply while he climbs off of me and crawls over to my nightstand. When he returns with a bottle of lube and a condom, I'm fully exposed.

He pulls off his underwear and asks, "Are you going to be a good boy and flip over for me?"

I shoot him a pleading look. Not once has he fucked me from the front, and I've been craving it since day one. Mike is the sexiest person I've ever seen, and I've never even been able to watch him come.

He rolls his eyes. "Fine. Back up a little."

I have to suppress a grin at those words. He's actually listening to my request? Hell must be freezing over; or maybe he's just desperate to make me stay. Either way, I don't waste time crawling back on the mattress a little. This is going to be fucking great.

He forces my legs apart with his hands, eyes catching something on the inside of my thigh.

"What's this?" he asks, tracing the spot with his fingers, making me shiver. I glance down to see what he's talking about, then blush.

"Lost a bet," I explain vaguely. He hums.

"You can tell me about that later."

My stomach churns at the thought, but it's not enough to make me need him any less. In fact, I have half a mind to impale myself on his cock right now.

Thankfully, I don't have to wait long. He brings my knees up outside my chest and uncaps the lube. I watch him in desperation until finally, he slips two fingers inside me at once.

I practically whimper in relief at the feeling, letting my head fall back on the pillow.

"You're a little tighter than usual," he comments huskily.

"Well," I breathe, my voice ragged from the pleasure of having something inside me. "It's been almost a month."

He teases my prostate and looks at me with these huge eyes and I moan. "Poor boy," he says in a faux-innocent voice that drives me wild. "Having to wait so long."

"Shut up," I groan, trying not to fuck myself on his fingers. God, it's really hard to pretend I don't want him as much as I do. I hate that when I accidentally let it show, he gets this smug look on his face, like he knows how fantastic he is and I'm just another slut who's head over heels for him.

What I don't hate is how he pulls his fingers almost all the way out, then pushes them back in, his knuckles passing the ring of my hole. I have to chew on my lip to keep myself from making any embarrassing sounds.

He watches me come undone for a few moments while he works his fingers inside me, then slips them out and reaches for the condom. Just as I've gotten my breathing under control, it's stolen from me again when he pushes my knees back and lines up, teasing my entrance.

While he pushes himself in, he leans closer and closer until his face is buried in my neck and I'm full and moaning. I wrap my legs around him while he starts out those few slow thrusts.

This isn't a new occurrence for us, but it is a new angle, so he doesn't find my prostate right away. He rests his elbows on either side of my head, working his hips around. When I gasp and shudder as he hits that bundle of nerves, he smiles to himself and pushes in there harder.

The smile is quickly lost and replaced with a look of concentration. He throws his hips inside me, the pleasure reading on his face, and probably on mine too. For the first time in my life, I'm able to hold him while we fuck, and I don't let that opportunity go to waste. With my arms around his back, I press my head into the pillow and watch the way his body rolls into mine, enjoying the sweet heat I'm feeling inside of me.

"God," he grunts, biting his lip. Our eyes meet, and something about how good he looks like he feels paired with how good I'm feeling makes my stomach flip over with a sensation that has nothing to do with sex. This is what makes sex so great—two people moving together in shared pleasure. It's better than blowjobs or handjobs because of that: the sharing.

And maybe also because Mike really knows what he's doing with his dick.

He's picked up his pace by now, and I close my eyes to focus on the feeling. The continued pulsing sensation of him inside me makes me scratch his back and ache for more, even though if I get any more I'll come.

"Easy, tiger," he chuckles into my ear at the marks I'm making on his back. I get no indication that he really minds, though, so I keep it up while he fucks me. The sound of his breathing drives me insane, and I groan when one particular thrust shoots a spasm of ecstasy through me.

"Close?" he asks, panting in time with me. I nod and grit my teeth.

"Getting there."

His hand grabs my face. "Look at me," he growls. I comply, watching him breathe hard through his mouth. He drops his hand, but his challenging stare keeps me looking at him.

"Say my name," he commands huskily. His dominance alone almost makes me groan.

"Fuck, Mike," I gasp, my hips moving of their own accord. The satisfied look on his face is rapacious and downright turned-on, and it brings me closer to losing it.

"Yeah," he breathes into my ear.

"Oh, god," I moan. "So fucking close."

"Hold on," he demands, making me want to scream at him. I focus all of my energy into keeping my climax at bay, turning my head to the side and dropping my jaw. His breathing is heavy as he picks up the pace.

"Going to come," I warn him desperately.

"No," he growls. I groan, this time in aggravation, frantically moving my hips away from his cock so that I won't let go. After a moment, he curses under his breath and speeds up even more. "Come," he orders.

That word is enough to make me moan loudly and shoot all over our stomachs. I come so hard that a red light overtakes my vision and I dig my nails into Mike's back. I'm vaguely aware of Mike groaning a few colorful swear words and him coming as well, but mostly of the unbearable pleasure that makes my toes curl. It's the most intense climax I've had in awhile, and it shakes me to the core.

Soon enough, I start to come down, the room seeming hazy after coming so hard. I lie still while Mike rides out his high before collapsing on top of me.

"So fucking good," he breathes, his face nestled into my neck. It's not something he'd normally say, so his orgasm must've affected him pretty well to let him be so honest.

I drop my hands to my sides, basking in the afterglow and letting my breathing get itself under control. Mike pulls out, gets rid of the condom, and rolls to the side.

"Don't tell me that was the last time," he says with a laugh. I can't tell if it's a euphemism for how good he thinks he is or how good it was for him. Either way, I can't just brush it off because it's a serious subject. I promised not to sleep with Mike anymore, yet here I am sixteen days later, just after coming with him. It feels like years since he knocked on my door, but it hasn't even been an hour.

Maybe I shouldn't think about this while I've just come.

I tell him neutrally, "I'll think about it." He sighs, but doesn't press the matter. We lie there for a few minutes in silence until he sits up.

"I really need a smoke," he says apologetically. It's not a surprise. He always smokes after we fuck.

"You can go," I shrug, getting up and reaching for my boxers. He stands and collects his clothes before looking at me calculatingly.

"Is that a 'I'm kicking you out' or a 'you're free to go?'"

I furrow my eyebrows. "Does it matter? I thought you were going home to smoke."

He squirms while he pulls up his pants. "Well, I don't know. I thought maybe I could just run down to the gas station and get a pack."

I study him while I chew my lip. He's trying to look nonchalant, but he seems nervous as he pulls his t-shirt over his head. What does he have to be nervous about? Is it because he wants to stay, and not just for sex?

"Why don't you want to go home?" I ask, knowing I probably shouldn't. I don't want to scare him off now.

But Mike just smirks, and I remember who I'm dealing with; he can take anything head-on and turn it into flirty banter. "Because, princess," he shrugs, retrieving his phone and wallet from the ground. "We've never gone for round two."

Right. Of course. Mike doesn't want to stay just for the sake of being here. He wants to stay because he's Mike Fuentes and he's going to seduce me for the second time in one night.

And because I'm that bitter kid with a crush on him, I fold my arms against my bare chest. I have no right to be annoyed, yet I am.

"If you can get back in, you're welcome to stay," I tell him composedly. He snorts.

"What, so I only get to fuck you again if I can pick locks?"

I shake my head. "No, I meant we'll see how long it takes for me to lock the door. If it's not locked when you get back, you can come in. If it is, go home."

He shrugs. "Fair enough. I guess I'd better hurry so you don't think too much and lock me out."

He gives me an arrogant smile, not waiting for my response before he leaves my room. I want until I hear the sound of my front door opening and closing to sigh and fall back on my bed. It still has come on the sheets, but I ignore that, grabbing my phone.

I hate to be the teenage girl who kisses and tells, but I really need Jaime's advice right now. I don't know if it was stupid of me to sleep with Mike or if it was a good idea. Five hours ago, I would've said stupid. Now, I have a few developing hickeys and a used condom on the floor that say otherwise.

Jaime picks up on the fourth ring. "I hope this is important. I was just getting to sleep."

"Hey, Himes. I, uh…I may have just fucked up a little bit."

I glance out the window warily at the dark sky. The gas station is down the street, so I don't have a lot of time.

"What happened, Tone?" he groans. I scratch my forehead.

"Um, so, Mike showed up here."

"And?"

I swallow. "And…we fucked."

The sigh I hear from Jaime is loud and dramatic. "Congratulations. You're calling me why?"

I blink. "Uh…because I told him we wouldn't fuck."

"Then why'd you invite him over, Tony?"

I roll my eyes. "I didn't, jackass. I said he just showed up."

"Oh." Jaime snorts. "Well, why'd you fuck him if you didn't want to?"

I sigh. "You know it's not that easy."

Jaime yawns, and I imagine him rubbing his eyes. "Can we talk about this tomorrow?"

"No. He's getting cigarettes from seven-eleven and then he's coming back. I need to know if I should let him in or not."

Jaime yawns again, and I feel bad for keeping him up, but I don't know what to do on my own. "Well, Tone," he says. "What makes you want to let him in?"

I chew my lip. "Uh…I don't know. I just…I really like to be around him, you know? I'm a complete schoolgirl for him. And he's a really, _really_ good fuck."

Jaime hums. "Well, what makes you want to make him go home?"

"Everything," I groan. "His girlfriend, Austin, Vic, and just…I know he's not good for me, you know? I have feelings for him, and he doesn't have feelings for me. I shouldn't waste my time. Every time we fuck, I like him more. I don't want to fall in fucking love with someone who'll never feel the same way."

Jaime sighs. "That's heartbreaking, Tony."

"Yeah, sorry," I say sarcastically. Jaime laughs.

"Well, dude, obviously there's a logical choice and an illogical choice. But, see, the logical choice isn't always the best one. Frankly, I don't know which one you should choose, but I don't think either choice will kill you." He sighs. "And…I don't know. You already fucked once tonight, right? What's the harm in one more?"

I shrug, even though no one's around to see it. "I guess you have a point."

Jaime laughs at that; it's a tired laugh, but a genuine one. "You're totally letting him back in, aren't you?"

"Probably," I admit, scratching the side of my neck. It's probably already getting purple from Mike's love bites.

"Well, then, my work here is done. I'll see you on Thursday, maybe."

"Okay, bye, Himes."

We hang up.

Maybe it's not the best choice, but I leave my door unlocked, only going into the living room to plant myself in front of the TV while I wait for Mike to return. I don't have to wait long. He comes back with a plastic bag, which he dumps out on my coffee table. Cigarettes, a lighter, and condoms.

"Can I smoke in here?" he has the decency to ask.

"Out the window." I wouldn't mind, but my landlord would. I'd have to pay a hefty fee that, frankly, I couldn't afford.

For awhile, it's silent while Mike smokes out my kitchen window and I half-watch CSI. And then he calls me over to observe a fight going on in front of the vet clinic across the street. We laugh. He bumps my hip and flirts. We talk a lot. Then, we fuck a lot.

So, a good choice or a bad choice? I don't know. What I do know is that I feel relaxed when we're talking and euphoric after I come beneath him and disappointed when he wakes me up in the morning to tell me he's leaving. What am I left with? Plans to fuck on Friday and a feeling in my gut that's both good and bad. I have Mike back, and that feels great, but everything inside me is screaming at me to turn back. This guy will absolutely fuck me, fuck me up, and fuck me over. I don't want to fall in love with that.

Maybe I already did. Maybe I knew that from the moment I watched him hit a bird with his cigarette butt dead-on and nearly piss himself laughing. It was funny, sure, but I was way happier than I should have been watching him laugh. It filled me up with something—something that made me want to scream nonsense from rooftops and draw every frame of him doubled over and gasping for air. It was something beautiful to watch. Mike laughing.

Maybe that's my life now. Getting disgustingly happy whenever he's happy, and crushed when something he does reminds me that he doesn't even give a fuck. I don't know if that's better or worse than the depression I've been trying to kick for awhile.

At least come Friday, my debt will be down to $185.


	21. Chapter 21

"Tony, I did something bad. Really bad."

This is what Jaime tells me on Sunday after asking me to take him to the club. We're already on our way, and I don't have time to turn around if I get pissed off enough to want to. Whatever it is, I'll have to handle it, unless I'm willing to be late to work just to dump Jaime on his ass in front of his apartment.

The past three nights, he has gotten wasted. Completely trashed. Yesterday, he spent all the money he brought and had to suck up to some people just to get more drinks. I almost had to cut him off, but he passed out, and I convinced Kellin to take him home. I'm surprised his hangover isn't…well, hanging over. In fact, I'm surprised he didn't get alcohol poisoning.

I guess I'm a little sympathetic. He says he's over Zoe, and I believed him, because if anyone can bounce back from that shit in less than three weeks, it's Jaime. But before he met her, he only had a couple of nights where he drank this much. He must still be sad.

That's another reason I keep my mind calm and ask Jaime what he did while I turn on fourth street.

"Well," he sighs, fiddling with his wallet. "So…yesterday, I passed out, blah, blah, you know all that shit. So I woke up in Kellin's car while he was taking me home. And then I was like, 'oh, fuck, I'm going to hurl.' And Kellin freaked out because his car is his baby, so he swerved off to the side and pushed me out, and I fell out of the car and puked. So, like…I was drunk, Tony. So fucking drunk. Okay? And I…I said something that I thought I whispered, but it was more like yelled."

I take a deep breath, trying to prepare myself for the worst. "What did you say, Himes?"

He laughs nervously. "I said…I said, 'Great, I'm vomiting on the side of the road and Tony's fucking Mike.'"

I slam on the breaks, earning an irritated honk from the car behind me.

"What?!"

"I'm sorry! I thought I said it quietly, but Kellin was like, 'Tony's fucking _who_?' and I tried to say, oh, not that Mike. But I'm the worst liar when I'm drunk, and I'm so fucking sorry."

"Oh my god, Jaime," I groan, turning down the last street. "You are the biggest dick I fucking know."

"You mean I _have_ the biggest—sorry." He stops when he sees the look I shoot him. I am not at all in the mood for his immature jokes right now.

"I can't believe you fucking said that."

"I'm really sorry, Tone. I didn't mean to."

I take a deep breath through my nose. "You do realize he's told Vic by now, and Vic will—" I take another breath. "Preciado, if you know what's good for you, you'll get your ass as far away from me as you fucking can once I park this car."

He looks crestfallen. "You're that mad?"

"I'm trying not to be," I tell him as I pull into the lot. He doesn't speak while I park, only offering a final apology as he hops out of the car. I grumble in aggravation once he's gone, banging my head on the steering wheel. If only we hadn't fucked two days ago. If only I hadn't left the door unlocked. If only I hadn't called Jaime for advice. If only Mike hadn't shown up to my apartment.

If only I didn't buy cocaine.

I could blame a lot of people, but the only person at fault is me. I slept with Mike knowing he had a girlfriend. It is my fucking fault, and my lack of self-control. Hopefully I'm not in too much shit.

I really don't want to be late for work, so I drag myself out of the car and inside the music shop. I keep my head down on the way to the bar. It's Sunday, so Vic might not even be here. I know better than to hope for that, though. He might be here just for the sake of telling Austin or doing god knows what to me. I'm really not in his good books, so there's no telling what could happen. I try not to think about the possibilities while I unlock the bar and pull the ice from the freezer.

For awhile, it's a quiet night. That doesn't mean I'm any less on edge, but at least it isn't chaos. Phil is onstage playing a ballad while the bodies in the crowd sway slowly. I watch the door when I can, but I don't see Vic or Kellin come in. I'm not scared of Kellin, or Vic, for that matter, but Vic is more likely to pull a gun on me. And I get the feeling he'd feel less remorse turning me in to Austin.

A few agonizing hours pass. Jaime stays out of my way, even though I'm more scared than pissed. The lineup changes a couple of times until Sierra gets onstage. That's when Vic shows up and I nearly shit myself.

"Beer, now," he snaps. I'm not stupid enough to give him attitude; I just get him what he wants and pull out the tab sheet. I'm about to mark a tally under his name when he says, "No. This one's on you."

I can't offer more than a frown while I flip the page to find my own name. If only Vic knew why I was fucking his brother in the first place; he might be a little less inclined to demand I pay for his drinks. I don't object, though. I can't.

It's tense as hell as he finishes his beer. Then, finally, he pounds the empty bottle on the counter. "Give me a shot of Jack. On you. And meet me in the supply closet in thirty minutes. If you're late, you're twice as fucked."

I work on getting him what he asked for in silence in the hopes that it'll make him less mad. It's hard not to say anything, considering I'm freaking out. I want to ask what the fuck he intends to do with me in the supply closet. I know I won't get an answer, though, and it'll probably just piss him off. Instead, I reach for the near-empty bottle and a shot glass. He's got me down seventeen dollars in five minutes; hopefully he won't ask for more.

He doesn't. He downs his shot and disappears, but not before reminding me: thirty minutes.

Could I be any more fucked?

The time passes quickly, only because I don't want it to. I keep an eye out for Jaime so that I can ask him to watch the bar. The fear definitely outweighs the anger by now. I can't find him, though, and five minutes before my deadline, I'm forced to flag Oli down.

"Hey," I say. "Can you keep an eye on the bar? I have to do something."

He sighs. "What do you have to do?"

"I don't know," I admit. "I know it won't be good."

He laughs. "I guess you have a habit of getting yourself fucked over. I can watch the bar while I'm down here, but I can't cover for you."

"Alright," I accept, albeit a little begrudgingly. "Wish me luck."

He claps me on the back while I duck under the barrier. I'm nervous enough to trip and twist my ankle correcting my fall on the short distance between the bar and the closet. Oli laughs at me, and I glare at him.

The supply closet has little more than four brick walls, a mop, a broom, and a bucket. I check over my shoulder before I enter, shutting the door behind me. What I'm not expecting to see is Tino instead of Vic.

He's leaning up against the wall, folding his arms, but he steps forward when he sees me.

"I don't know what you did," he says with a deceptively neutral tone. "But Vic and Kellin are _pissed_."

That's about the time we catch up: Tino proceeds to pummel me, and I take it. Even if I wanted to fight back, I'd lose. Tino isn't a weak guy. So I accept my punishment. It's not like he'll kill me.

"Don't—mess—with—my—friends—you—cunt!"

Then there's the implied threat, him leaving me alone, and me catching my breath. There's no point in describing something I already have, so I won't. I leave, sergeant dickhole Jaime is waiting for me, Austin threatens me with the fine-print treatment. By the time all that shit is over, I'm tired and in pain. I'm pretty sure there's dried blood on my face.

Jaime doesn't drink too much this time. He gets drunk, sure, but not smashed. Despite his upbeat attitude about it, I know he feels bad about telling Kellin. He really is a good guy. So I'm not mad at him, but he senses that I'm not in the mood for his jokes, and he leaves me to my own devices for the remaining two hours.

It's more like two and a half. When work is finally over and I've gone over the income like I'm supposed to, it's three thirty. Alan gives me a brief talk when I hand in the paperwork. Then, I leave, and see the second-to-last person I want to see right now (the first being God. I'd have some explaining to do).

"Goddamn, what happened?" asks Mike, genuine concern on his face. It must look worse than I thought if Mike fucking Fuentes is worried about me.

"I'm fine," I claim, brushing past him. He stops me by grabbing my arm.

"Really, what happened?"

I shrug out of his grip. If Vic saw me talking to him _now_ , well…I might not survive. "It doesn't matter. I'm okay."

He snorts. "Have you seen yourself?"

"No, and I'm not up for sticking around just so you can tell me how badly I got beaten. I'm going home."

"Wait, wait." He grabs my arm again. "You're not in any condition to drive."

I roll my eyes. "I'm beat up, not drunk."

"You could have a concussion," he persists.

"Nobody smacked my head on the floor. Fuck off."

He sighs in annoyance. "I'll fuck off when you're not limping." He grabs my hand and shoves my keys into it. "Go wait in the car. I'll be out in five."

"It's not _the_ car," I snap. "It's _your_ car. I drove my own here, and I'll drive it back."

I try to give him back his keys, but he won't take them. "Go. I'm going to take you home and clean you up. We'll come back for your car in the morning."

"God-fucking-dammit, Mike," I groan. "I don't need to be cleaned up."

One more time, I try to shove his keys into his chest, but he won't take them. "Get in the fucking car," he says before turning around. I hold in a huff of irritation when he's gone. I have his keys; I can't just leave. Maybe…maybe I'll just lock him out once we get to my apartment. Unless he's willing to pick the lock, that should keep him out. I don't think he's psychotic enough to break in.

So it's a plan. He'll drive me home, I'll cooperate, but go inside before he does, and get the door shut and locked. Perfect.

I twirl his keys around my fingers while I half-walk half-limp to the parking lot. By the time I actually make it inside his car, I'm exhausted. About thirty seconds after I sit down, the driver's door opens and Mike climbs in.

He grabs the keys from my lap. "Glad to see you didn't steal my car."

I mumble, "Yeah, 'cause I'm not fucking crazy like you are."

He chuckles at the comment, starting the car. He backs out of his parking space, but instead of turning right, he turns left.

"Wait, where are you going?" I question.

"Home," he says.

"I live the other way."

Mike half-grins. "Not your home, dumbass."

My eyes snap open. "What? No!" I protest. "Take me home!"

"Chill, princess."

"Stop fucking calling me that," I roar. He just sighs and shakes his head.

"No need to be so fucking neurotic."

"Turn the fuck around, Mike," I warn. His 'neurotic' comment does nothing to pacify my outrage, but my warning does nothing to change his mind.

"Or what?"

"Or I'll fucking walk home!"

He laughs. "I'd like to see you try."

I object some more, but he just cranks the radio up as loud as it can go. Finally, I throw my head against the seat, regretting it because it hurts, but too exhausted to move or speak. When he pulls up in front of his apartment complex, I hop out of the car immediately with all intent to walk back home. My ankle hurts like a bitch, but it's better than being forced to put up with him. He gets out too.

"Tony stop," he demands, grabbing my wrist. I snatch it away from his grip and keep walking. "Stop," he repeats, seizing my wrist again. He holds me in place this time.

"Let go of me," I growl.

"Yeah, sure." He rolls his eyes. "I'll do that."

Instead, he pulls me to the stairs.

"Are you fucking crazy?" I snarl. "Let me go!"

He tightens his hold on me and says, "If I was crazy, I'd let you walk home in your state. Honestly, Tony. It's like five miles."

"Fuck it. I'll walk."

But we're already up the first set of stairs, him essentially carrying me up with how fucked my ankle is. I try to protest, but Mike has me in his apartment before I can even make a dent.

"Sit down," he commands, pushing me toward his sofa. I try to reach for the door, but he stops me and forces me down.

"This is fucking insane," I laugh incredulously. I don't comment on how the familiar smell of cigarettes and weed satisfies my nose. I just look at Mike in disbelief.

"The back of your head is bleeding, Tony," he tells me. Instinctively, I reach my hand up to inspect and hiss when pain shoots through me and I find out that he's right. It doesn't change the fact that he practically kidnapped me, though.

"Take me home," I insist. He pinches the bridge of his nose and heaves a sigh.

"There's nothing wrong with me checking your injuries. You should probably be at a fucking hospital right now. I'll take you home soon, but not before I fix you up and you get some rest."

I don't say anything after that. When he mentions the hospital, I remember what I had to do for Shay. The situation is almost identical, except I was on the other side of it. I wanted to get him medical help, but he wouldn't let me. Maybe I should let Mike check me out. We may not be in a relationship, but we're at least friends by now. Friends don't want friends to ignore their injuries.

So I drop my eyes in defeat and lean back on the couch. Mike huffs something along the lines of 'it's about fucking time, you goddamn idiot' and disappears into the kitchen. By the time he comes back with a rag and an ice pack, I've calmed down a little more.

"Your ankle is fucked, right?" he asks me. I nod to affirm. He grabs my leg, swinging it up to rest on the couch, and places the ice pack on my ankle. I wince at first, since it's cold, but soon get used to it.

"Any other shit with your legs?"

I shake my head.

"Ass?"

I grin and shake my head again.

"Dick?"

I laugh at that one. He shrugs.

"Thought I'd ask. I'm going to get your shirt off. Is that alright?"

"Not like you haven't before," I point out. He shrugs in agreement and helps my shirt over my head. While he runs his fingers over my skin, he bites his lip in concentration. Upon looking down, I see that most of my stomach is faintly purple. Not enough to warrant concern, but clear enough to indicate where Tino's fists have been. Mike hums as he gets to my ribcage. "These probably aren't broken," he says, "but I have to check. Rate the pain on a scale of 'ouch' to 'why did you fucking do that, I'm going to shoot you if you ever touch that again.'"

I chuckle while he looks at me for reassurance. Pain isn't something I fear. I've had most of my skin split open and filled with ink, so it's not like it's foreign to me. The only nerves I have are based on the fact that my ribs could actually be broken, and that would require a hospital visit. That could get messy. I nod to Mike, and he pushes my shoulders up against the arm of the couch.

"Ready?" he asks. I roll my eyes.

"Yeah, I'm not as big of a pussy as you think I am."

"Fair enough, although you are the pussy in the bedroom." He positions his fingers at the top of my ribs; they're the least bruised, so he probably figures it safest to start there. When he presses down, there's pain, but not bad pain. I let him know it's fine.

He works his way down all of my ribs on both sides, checking my expression with every motion, and nothing feels too bad. In fact, I kind of have this stupid warm, fuzzy feeling in my stomach, which I'm sure is only there because it's Mike that's taking care of me. My brain isn't stupid and knows that he's only doing it because he doesn't want me to be seriously hurt without anyone knowing about it. My heart, though, is a complete dumbass. My heart thinks he doesn't want to see me hurt at all.

God, my heart is such a fucking idiot.

Finally, he's done inspecting my torso, although he cockily insists that I keep my shirt off. I'm not self-conscious, so I don't even pretend like I care. Then, he climbs onto my lap.

"It's easier this way," he explains. The justification isn't needed. He may be the type, but I don't expect him to put the moves on me tonight considering the lengths he took to check out my injuries. He might try in the morning, but I figure I'm safe for now.

Mike takes the rag and dabs first at my lip with it. I crinkle my nose at first since it's tender, but it isn't unbearable. And I need to get the blood off my face anyway.

"So…," Mike hums. "I'm going to break up with Krista."

That has my eyes widening in surprise. "You are?"

"Yeah," he shrugs. "I mean, I've always known it would happen eventually. I think she's getting too attached."

"Oh," I offer, not really sure what else to say. Of course, I'm happy that he's breaking up with her since I'm a jealous little shit, but I'm not sure how much it would actually change. Mike will still be Mike. Vic will still be Vic. Rules will still be rules. I'm not sure that I'm willing to even try anymore considering what happened to me tonight. Hell, Vic might even blame me for the breakup and wail on my face himself. He's not the biggest guy ever, but if he's mad enough, I'm sure he could do some damage.

Mike finishes up with my lip and moves to a cut on my cheekbone, asking, "You got beat up because of me, right?"

I smile sheepishly. "Well…kind of."

"I'm sorry," he sighs. His apology shocks me, but I don't want to draw attention to it, so I brush it off with, "It's alright. It was mostly my fault."

"The only way it's your fault is the fact that you're so damn irresistible," Mike says lightheartedly, and I grin. I can deal with Mike's sexual comments better than I can anything else, so it's a good change.

"What," I say. "You want to lick my wounds?"

He laughs. "When did you get confident? I like it." He stops cleaning the cut on my cheekbone for a moment to look at me with a devious grin. "The only wound I want to lick is this one."

And he kisses me, softly because I'm injured, but still lustfully, swiping his tongue across the split skin on my lip. Physically, it doesn't feel great, but emotionally…oh my fucking god, I'm going to explode at how he just made my heart flip.

But it's bad. Because of this dick, I got beaten. My boss threatened me, and I may have accidentally left Jaime alone at the club, all in one night. I should really dump him on his ass and get the hell out of his life. Get him the hell out of mine. Go back to how it was before September.

The problem is, I don't think I want to. I don't think I can.

Before Mike, I was a fucking shell of a person. Work, sleep, TV, occasionally doing stupid shit like going to strip clubs with Jack and Alex or watching movies with Jaime. I really wasn't happy. Now, I'm miserable, but I'm happy, too. I'm miserable at just about everything, but happy at how Mike laughs and how he always has to be right and how he plays off his fuck-ups and everything in between. The fact that it all feels worth it says something big. My life is fucked, but I love living it.

Maybe I kind of love Mike.

Maybe I don't mind knowing I'll never get to tell him that.

Maybe I miss his lips when he pulls away, despite the cut on mine.

Mike goes back to cleaning my face as if nothing happened, asking, "Who did this? It couldn't have been Vic; he's too much of a pussy."

I laugh, not expressing my agreement, but certainly not denying it. "No, it was Tino. But Vic made me buy him a shot and a beer."

"God, he's such a jerk," Mike mutters. "Kellin and Tino, too. Kellin's a bitch and Tino's a bag of dicks."

It gets quiet again after that. He wipes down my nose quickly; it's sore, but doesn't feel broken. When he's done, he climbs off of me and inspects the back of my head.

"Hmm," he says. "I think the easiest way to take care of this is to run you under the shower. Is that cool?"

"As long as you don't try to fuck me," I shrug. He snorts while he discards the ice pack and pulls me up from the couch.

"Yeah, like I could be gentle enough not to hurt you."

"Oh yeah? What if I have a pain kink?"

Mike snickers, leading me down the hallway. "I actually wouldn't be surprised. You don't, do you?"

I chuckle and shake my head. "No, or else I would've popped a boner getting these tattoos."

"Actually," says Mike. "That happened to me once."

"No way," I laugh.

"Yeah." We walk into the bathroom and he sits down on the toilet lid, pointing to the portrait of Harry Potter underneath his jeans. "It didn't really hurt, the artist was hot, something about the adrenaline." He shrugs. "Anyway, let's get you into the shower."

While he turns the water on, I mention, "Once I had to help my friend take a shit."

"What?" Mike chortles. "I'm definitely not going to try to fuck you now." He tests the water temperature with his hand. "What's the story there?"

I sigh. "It's not a happy one. Shay got the fine-print treatment, so I took him home and gave him some whiskey and stuff. He woke me up later saying he needed help crapping because he couldn't sit down."

Mike whistles. "Poor guy. I'd hate to face Austin's wrath."

"You and me both," I mumble, not pointing out how we're both continually at risk as long as we keep fucking. I haven't decided if we're going to stop, and I don't need Mike's opinions fucking with my decision-making process.

He tests the water again, finding it suitable this time and motioning for me to come closer. He reaches for my zipper and I step back.

"I thought I wasn't getting in."

He rolls his eyes. "What, you're embarrassed that I'll see your dick? We don't know how long this will take and you're running on fumes. Get naked, get in, and sit down."

I sigh, not wanting to be the only one naked in front of him, although he has a point. It's not that I'm insecure, but what if I randomly get a boner? That would make for an awkward situation.

But it's nothing he hasn't seen before, and we need to wash the blood out of my hair, so I strip the rest of my clothes and get under the warm water.

Mike wolf-whistles just to piss me off, and I shoot him the bird. Blushing sucks. Blushing really, absolutely sucks.

Soon, the water that flows down the drain turns a russet color, and Mike hums at that.

"What happened to your head, exactly?"

"Uh…I may have fallen backwards and scraped it on the wall."

Mike laughs. "You got beat up, but your head is bleeding because you scraped it?"

I shrug. "Yeah, and my ankle is fucked because I tripped."

"Are you usually so clumsy?"

"No," I defend. "I was freaked out because I thought Vic was going to kill me."

"You could take Vic," he scoffs.

"Well, I wasn't planning on fighting back."

Mike sighs and watches the water swirl down the drain. He just lets me sit under the water for awhile until he leans in to inspect my head.

"So," he says as he pushes some of my hair out of the way. "I don't think it's bleeding anymore. You just scraped some of the skin open."

"Did it fuck up my hair?" I ask worriedly. Mike shakes his head.

"Not any more fucked than it already was."

"Dick," I scoff. "My hair is great."

He smirks, "Whatever helps you sleep at night." Then, he stands and grabs a towel. "I'll get you some shit to wear. Do you want me to wash your other stuff?"

For some reason, the offer gives me a strange feeling and I say, "You don't have to do that."

"It's not a big deal," he shrugs. "It takes thirty seconds to put them in the wash."

He picks up my clothes from the ground, puts the towel on the counter, and disappears. I stand up slowly, turn the water off, and wrap the towel around my waist. When I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, I laugh.

I really look like hell.

Mike comes back after a minute and hands me a pair of basketball shorts.

"If you're pissed at me, I can sleep on the couch," he tells me while I drop the towel and pull up the shorts. My whole upper body is sore when I bend over, so I have to do it slowly.

"No," I say plainly. "I'm sleeping on the couch."

He scoffs at that. "You really think I would let you? It'd kill your back."

"I'll be fine," I insist.

"Quit trying to be brave. Just sleep on the bed, with me or not."

"I'm not trying to be brave," I protest.

"Oh my god," he says. "You are the most stubborn piece of shit I have ever dealt with." He doesn't wait for me to respond and instead grabs my wrist and pulls me down the hall. "You'll feel two-hundred times shittier in the morning if you wake up on the couch. It's that simple. Lay the fuck down."

"You are an asshole," I complain as he pushes me down as lightly as he can. He shrugs as if to say that's just the way it is.

"Do I get to sleep here or not?" he asks.

"It's your apartment. You can sleep wherever the fuck you want."

He narrows his eyes. "Is that like one of those tests where the girl says, 'do what you want' but there's actually a right and a wrong answer?"

"Dude, I'm not a girl," I snort. "You can take what I say at face value."

"Good. Lay down." He flicks off the light, and a moment later, there's a dip in the bed. I flip over onto my stomach. It hurts my bruises, but it feels better to be able to rest my head on my arms.

Mike sighs, "We're not done fucking, right?"

The question has me taking a deep breath and rubbing my eyes. "I really don't know, Mike," I tell him. "I don't know if it's worth it."

"Well, Vic can't do shit once I break up with Krista."

"Vic can do plenty any time he wants," I retort. "He'll probably blame me for the breakup. I don't want to actually die."

"He can't blame you for me not loving Krista and stringing her along."

I scold myself at the satisfaction I feel when he says that. Obviously he doesn't love Krista. I don't need to get all happy hearing that. Mike doesn't love anyone. He never will. That's the way it is.

I sigh. "I'm not saying it's right, but I'm sure that's exactly what he'll do."

Mike's phone lights up and I watch him go to Vic's contact. He presses the call button; it rings six times and goes to voicemail.

"Hey, Vic," he says casually. "Just letting you know that you're a dick. Also, I'm going to break up with Krista. Let me know if you're going to throw a tantrum about it so that I can plan ahead."

He hangs up and smiles pompously at me before he locks his phone and the room goes dark again.

"If Vic blames it on you," he says. "We can call it off, at least for awhile. If not, we'll keep fucking. Deal?"

"I don't know," I say apologetically. "I'll think about it, okay?"

It's not that I don't want to keep sleeping with Mike, because I really fucking do. The issue is the constant worry of being caught and all the effort it takes to cover our tracks. But I don't need to explain that. It's obvious.

Mike isn't overjoyed, but he accepts my answer, telling me to go to sleep. It's almost five AM, so I'm quick to comply. Sleep first, life's bullshit later. It's easiest that way.


	22. Chapter 22

I swear to god I didn't mean to end up naked on Mike's bed seven days after getting beaten for doing just that, but here I am. And I was the one who initiated it. Fuck, I really need to try harder not to want things in my ass.

It starts because it's Mike's birthday. December fourteenth. When I come into work, I have no idea, figuring it's just a regular Thursday. But when people start to come in, the energy tells me that it's not.

That's because it's also Alex's birthday. People here will take any excuse to go wild as long as Jack or Alex is involved. They come in together, Alex screaming about how he's twenty-four and ready to get wasted enough to forget. I frantically serve drinks while Jaime periodically stops by and tells me about something crazy he just saw, like Jonny eating a cigarette or Justin sucking a dick upside down. I'm too busy to be impressed, although I admit Justin must have some talent to be able to do that.

All in all, the night is too hectic for me to think. My bruises don't really hurt anymore, even though my stomach and face are yellow and disgusting, and I haven't seen Mike since he took me to pick up my car the day after he cleaned me up. It's only been a few days, though, so I should be doing a lot of thinking. I haven't heard word from or about Vic. I don't know if Mike and Krista are even broken up yet. Austin has been watching me carefully, or sending Alan or Aaron by to check on me. My life is taxing enough that I have every right to be anxious, but it's too busy at work to worry about anything besides serving overpriced alcohol.

Like I said, it's crazy as fuck, so Mike has been working just as hard as I have selling substances. Still, that doesn't stop him from grabbing my wrist after I clock out with Alan and suffer through a tense lecture on disappearing from the bar on Sunday. I'm let off with a warning and leave to find Mike waiting outside the bathrooms. He pulls me inside.

"Hi," he grins and drags me into a stall. It surprises me, and I don't stop to ask what the fuck he's doing. I guess I didn't know what to expect in the first place. He seemed fine waiting it out a little before getting involved again, but then it's just like him to fight for what he wants. While he shuts the stall door, I decide, yeah, this makes sense.

When he speaks, it's just enough that only I could hear him over the noises of the club on the other side of the bathroom door. We're alone in here anyway, but you can never be too careful. Look what happened last time.

"Guess what today is?" he asks me in a low voice while he grabs my hips and steps up to press our bodies together. I can't even decide if I want this or not. Duh, it feels good, but aren't I supposed to be thinking about it, or at the very least, waiting to hear about Vic?

I humor him and say, "What?"

He grabs the front of my hat and turns it to the side so that he can lean his head in.

"My birthday," he says in a low voice I can't describe. He sounds smug and proud in a joking way, but it's like he's also genuinely excited, and something in me thinks that's really cute. There's a child somewhere in Mike. Some part of him thinks the world is good and exciting. He's not naïve or anything; just an optimist. It's refreshing.

The part of him that _isn't_ a child leans into my neck and teases the skin with his teeth and tongue. I try to sound nonchalant when I say, "oh yeah?" but my voice shakes in anticipation of feeling him on my skin. He's about to try to fuck me. I know that. I should be stopping him. I know that too.

I ask him how old he is to distract him, even though I already know the answer. I can't actually tell him to get off of me, but I can do my best to get his thoughts elsewhere. I shouldn't fuck Mike. I shouldn't.

He's twenty-seven, and he tells me so, then plants his lips at the base of my throat. Plan failed. I swallow hard and try again.

"So what did you do to celebrate?"

He pulls back and sighs. "I got some drinks with Craig before work. Vic and I were supposed to meet up with my parents, but they were sick, and he was too pissed to uphold tradition."

"I'm sorry," I say sincerely. He shakes his head and rubs his thumb in circles on my hip, which I try so fucking hard not to enjoy.

"It's not what I wanted to do anyway."

"Wait, Mike," I wince before he can duck his head back in. He rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah, you don't want to fuck. Tell me something I don't know."

"No, I mean, I do," I assure him. "It's just that…this is going to keep happening. It already has happened. I tell you we have to stop and you convince me to sleep with you again. Over and over. Last time I got fucking beat up over it, and just…it's dangerous. I said I needed to think about it, and you're not letting me."

Mike sighs and steps back, folding his arms. "Okay. That's fair." He purses his lips and studies me. "Sorry for, like, seducing you. I guess. But dude—" He puts on some gifted puppy-dog eyes. "—it's my _birthday_."

I laugh at how he looks at me and scratch the back of my head. "I know. I'm sorry." After a pause, I add, "Happy birthday."

"Thanks," he chuckles. "Hasn't been the best one."

"Stop trying to guilt me," I groan.

"I'm not," he swears. "Maybe. Okay, I am, but it _has_ been pretty shitty."

"Well, I'm sorry you have a dickbag brother and friends."

He shrugs. "They're usually cool." I'm not sure what to say, but I don't have to say anything, because he gets an inspired look on his face. "Hey, so we don't have to fuck, but you could still come over. We could get high."

The suggestion surprises me. I get that awful warm, fuzzy feeling in my stomach at the fact that he wants me to come over for something besides fucking. I get a more wary feeling at what he wants to do.

"I haven't gotten high in probably a year and a half," I admit. He grins.

"Really? Oh, you're so cute and innocent. Let's do it. It'll be fun."

My stomach flips over at the 'cute' comment. Fuck you, Mike, for making me have these stupid feelings.

He looks so eager and excited and adorable and I can't say no to that. I can't. So I don't.

I sigh, "Fine," like it's a chore to hang out with him. I would hang out with him every day for the rest of my life if I knew I wouldn't get my heart broken or my ass beat by his brother or lose my job. But he doesn't know that; or, at least, I think he doesn't.

He gets a satisfied look on his face and pulls out his car keys.

"Here," he says. "Go wait in the car. I'll clock out and grab some weed."

I take the keys, and he slaps my ass as he passes me. I glare at him, but he just winks and leaves the bathroom. I take a moment to collect my thoughts before exiting the stall. I will not fuck Mike. I will not fuck Mike. I will not fuck Mike. He's going to try, and it's going to be hard to say no, but we are absolutely not fucking.

Good talk.

For the second time within seven days, I leave my car parked in its spot and instead climb into Mike's passenger seat. I realize that I shouldn't be doing this, but hell, it's his _birthday_.

Mike and I have never been the small-talk type, but that's exactly what happens when he slides into the seat next to me. He starts up his car and asks me how my day was. Fucking weird. I tell him it was boring and he asks me what I did and I fill him in on the show I watched and the new skateboard I was looking at. Surprisingly, it's not awkward, but it feels strangely domestic. I guess if we're going to be friends, we have to talk about things besides sex.

Soon, we're sitting on the floor of his bedroom, which is littered with dirty clothes, drumsticks, lighters, and magazines. Mostly Playboys on that last one. Typical. He grabs a pipe from under his bed and stuffs some leaves in the bowl.

I've never seen Mike smoke anything besides cigarettes, so this is interesting to see. I like how his eyes slide shut with the first drag he takes, and how he holds it in for a few good seconds before it seeps out his nose and mouth. I'm close enough to see how, for a moment, his lip ring fogs up. While the steam clears, he hands me the pipe and the lighter, watching me carefully while I light up for the first time in awhile.

The smoke settles hot in my lungs, and I resist the urge to cough. It's not like I haven't done this before. It's just been too long, and I'm not used to the heat inside me. Still, it's relaxing how I can feel it settling and swirling before I let it out and hand Mike back the pipe and lighter. It's silent for a few minutes while we pass it back and forth. Then, gravity increases and everything sounds foggy and I ease onto my side with a grin. Thank god I'm here right now, with Mike and weed. This is where I want to be all the time. I tell him so, and he laughs at me.

"You're so bad at pretending you don't want to fuck," he says in a high voice. Or maybe it's low. I can't tell. He lies on his side and faces me, reaching for my braid. I let him twirl it between his fingers while I say, "Well, I _do_ want to fuck. Like, all the time." I snort a laugh, tracing patterns on the carpet with my finger. "It should be easier. Like, why can't we just do what we want and not have to answer to anybody? Fuck Austin." I sigh. "I would totally fuck Austin. He's hot."

"You're so right," Mike says, eyes wide. "I would suck his dick."

"I hear it's small, though," I tell him. "But is that bad? For sucking? 'Cause if you're taking a dick in your ass, you want a big one, but if you're sucking, you don't want to choke, right?"

"True." Mike reaches for the pipe again. "Dude, you know what's weird? If Austin's dick is small, a mouth would probably feel different to him, right? Like, he probably only wants head from dudes with small mouths, since, like, a normal mouth would probably be too big for him, you know?"

I nod fervently, fascinated by his revelation. Then, I grab the pipe from him before he sets it down and take another drag. Mike frowns as I blow the smoke out, watching it ascend into the air and disappear.

"We're wasting it," he notes.

"Wasting what?"

Instead of answering, he sits up and pulls me with him. We sit criss-cross, facing each other, our knees touching and our chests merely a couple of feet apart. I watch as he grabs the pipe slowly, lights it, and sucks some in. After he sets it down, he grabs my face abruptly with both hands, pressing our mouths together and parting his lips. The smoke leaves his lungs and trails to mine by our connected mouths. I have no choice but to breathe in. It's interesting, the combination of weed and carbon dioxide being fed to me from Mike's warm lips. Nonchalantly, he pulls back and watches as I let our shared smoke out.

"That way, we don't waste any," he says, handing me the pipe. "Your turn."

In my state, I consider his idea genius, eagerly lighting the leaves and inhaling. After handing over the pipe, I place my hands on his neck and lean in to reconnect our lips. Then, I get the dumbest fucking urge to kiss him.

It's sloppy. Once the smoke has left me and entered him, I take his bottom lip between my teeth and slide my tongue into his mouth. He's too stoned to be surprised. Instead, he reaches for my waist and reciprocates. I earnestly explore his mouth until he can't hold his breath in anymore and the smoke pours out of his nostrils.

But it doesn't stop there. The kiss only breaks for a moment while he presses me down onto the floor and climbs on top of me to straddle my waist. We're high and slow and he takes a second to look down at me with tranquil eyes before kissing me wetly.

We keep going. The dwindling cluster of leaves in the pipe is forgotten while we remove our shirts and pants and hop up on Mike's bed. It's forgotten while he slips a finger inside me; while he puts on a condom and I wrap my legs around him. My sense of judgment is gone, and all I know is the fog in my brain and what I want below the waist. So we don't stop. I don't think of how I let Mike into my pants _again_ , or how he seems to be glowing while I watch him work his body above me. It's natural. It's instinct. Thinking would make it hard.

Soon, I'm coming and moaning his name. He likes this, and he shivers while he blows his load inside me. Then, it's over. He pulls out, having enough sense to get rid of the condom before collapsing on the bed beside me. The room is still hazy and I'm still high, probably more so after the rush of chemicals you get from sex.

"Happy birthday," I'm lucid enough to say. Mike cracks up.

"Oh, damn, best birthday present I've gotten in years."

I laugh too. It's funny, because usually a present is something you'd wrap up and give sitting around a table. Then, I'm laughing because I'm imagining walking in with a bow on my dick while Mike chats with his family and friends. It seems like something Jaime would do.

Mike frowns. "I usually smoke now, don't I?"

I hum my response, which is a yes, and he takes it as one with a sigh.

"I don't want to get up," he whines. "It's too cold."

He makes a point out of pulling the blankets over us, which is a thousand times warmer. Then, he does something I don't expect, even high.

He scoots over to my side of the bed and wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me close to him. He tangles our bare legs, holds on to my midsection, and rests his forehead on mine. He doesn't even register my surprise.

"That's better," he says, letting his eyes fall shut. When I can fathom words, I ask, "You're not going to smoke?"

He shakes his head. "No. This is better."

And god, my heart freaks out at those words. I'm just coherent enough to wonder why the fuck he's so cuddly all of a sudden. Is this just how he is when he's high? If so, I should smoke with him more often. Sure, the sex is great for my physical needs, but this does fucking wonders for my stupid emotional side.

Of course, I won't like it when it all goes to shit, but I'll worry about that in its own time.

For a few minutes, I bask in the feeling of him flush against me, not really thinking of anything besides how beautiful he looks with his eyes closed and his lips slightly parted. Then, he speaks.

"I wish I didn't have to take you home tomorrow."

"Sorry," I respond, wary of how my breath must be hitting his face. I add, "Next time, I should just drive my own car over here so you don't have to worry about it," because I really don't doubt that there will be a next time. Mike grins, peering at my face.

"That's not what I meant, princess."

I frown. "What did you mean, then?"

Now, he looks straight at my eyes. The intensity of his stare has me averting my gaze.

"I think…." He reaches his hand up and cups my cheek, rubbing his thumb over its surface. "I think that maybe you should not have to go back."

My eyes widen. "Wh-what?"

He grins, "Move in with me princess?" and all I can do is stare.

Mike wants me to fucking move in with him? He can't mean it. He's intoxicated. He's top of the list of Guys Who Need Their Space. There's no way he actually wants me to live here. And anyway, we're not dating. It doesn't make sense. Fuck buddies can't be roommates; that's not how it works.

"You're high," I tell him. "You're so high."

"So?" he retorts. "We didn't do that much." Mike rubs his thumb over my cheek. "And I've been thinking about it, anyway. Your apartment sucks. I take you here after work, like, once a week. Plus, you're less likely to get mugged on this side of town."

"I'm not some pansy-ass. I can hold my own."

"Tony, that's not the point. I just…I want you to live here."

I take a deep breath and close my eyes, feeling his hand on my face and his legs tangled in mine. "To be honest, Mike," I say. "I think this is something you'll regret tomorrow, once you're not high and you haven't just gotten off."

"No, Tone," he protests. "I've been meaning to ask you for awhile. Okay? Just stop making it harder than it needs to be."

I open my eyes again, studying him. "Why the fuck would you even want me to live here? I don't get it."

Mike chuckles under his breath. "Thank god you're an idiot."

"What?"

"Never mind. Dude, you're broke as fuck and I enjoy your company. Move in."

He slides his arm back down to wrap around my waist and pulls me closer to him. I feel how his chest rises and falls with every breath. I can even feel the pulse in his wrist. Everything in me wants to say yes, fuck, Mike, of course I'll move in with you. But I still hesitate. I shouldn't say yes. Right?

"Are you going to answer me or what?" he murmurs. I take a shuddering breath.

"We shouldn't fuck anymore," I say. He grins.

"You're right. We shouldn't. That didn't stop us from even starting in the first place."

"Dammit," I mutter, because he has a point. He sighs and rubs my back. The action makes me want to either fall asleep, crack a Cheshire cat grin, or punch him in the face. He is completely using my feelings against me. What an asshole.

"We'll move your stuff on Monday, okay?" he says, but it's less of a question and more of a demand. I rub my eyes and curse.

"Fuck. Fine. Okay."

"Is that a yes?"

"Yeah, dickhole, it's a yes. Now shut up before I change my mind."

Mike just grins and pecks my lips quickly before getting up to turn off the light. I try hard not to want him to slide back in and wrap his arms around me again, but it doesn't matter, because that's exactly what he does. He holds me fucking tight and I can't decide if it feels good or makes me want to kill myself. I shouldn't get used to this. I shouldn't. I can't.

I won't.


	23. Chapter 23

"Come on, how old are you, seven? We just have to get it up the stairs," I say to a whining Mike Fuentes who seriously doesn't want to help me carry my couch into his apartment.

"Just leave it on the corner," he insists. "You're selling it anyway. We don't need to have it sit in my apartment for a week before we have to carry it down again."

I roll my eyes. "You're such a baby. I'm not giving it away. I'm selling it."

"Cheap-ass," he grumbles, but lifts one end off the sidewalk. I kindly ignore his comment, instead grabbing the other end and gesturing with my head to the stairs.

A lot has happened in under seventy-five hours. The morning after we got high, I asked him if he meant it, and he did. Then, he drove me home so that I could pack. He said he'd help, but he had a few private deals to conduct. He may work for Austin, but he also works for some hot shot drug lord named Swan, and that's probably a fake name. With the combined income, he confesses that he makes a lot more than he previously implied.

I almost passed out when I heard. From Austin alone, he makes over a hundred thousand a year. Including what I get in tips, that's almost four times what I make. His private dealing is sporadic, but it was enough to scrape him by before he got a job at the club, so it's a pretty fat bonus.

I was actually mad at first. He makes enough to support nineteen kids and counting, yet he was that pissed about a quarter thousand dollars from me? So yeah, I gave him a piece of my mind about that. Then, he pulled these guilty eyes and claimed that he just wanted an excuse to fuck me, and soon, I broke. It helped that he dropped the debt.

Yeah. My debt is gone. We didn't even break one-fifty, and he dropped it. I was almost disappointed at first; he got rid of our only reason to fuck. Then, I realized that there are actually a thousand reasons, first and foremost being that it's fun and Mike is hot and talented. I could go on for awhile, but the point is, I'm no longer bothered and am instead calling on all of my inner strength to get this damn couch up the stairs.

Furniture first, boxes later. That should be easy considering I only have six. Those are in my car. I had to rent a moving truck for the bigger shit. That consists of my couch, mattresses, TV, dresser, and my table and chairs. I'll be selling basically all of it, apart from the dresser. I was planning on keeping my bed and putting it in a spare room (Mike has two), and sleeping on it, because I figured he didn't want me in _his_ bed. But no. Not the case. He claimed it's easier, and that we could probably make fifteen or twenty bucks off of my shitty bed if we just get rid of it. I don't know, though. I get the impression that there's more to it. I don't think he loves me or anything, since the only thing he actually loves is sex, but there must be some attachment. And it's fine. That's a human thing. Before blankets and fire, we huddled in caves to keep warm. Proximity is nice. It's just instinct.

We get the couch up to the first landing, and then we take a break. I sigh and shake out my muscles; Mike does the same.

"So," he breathes. "Did your landlord pitch a fit?"

"No, actually," I disclose. "My rent was going to expire the first week of January. He said that as long as I paid all of it off, I could move out."

"Convenient," Mike hums. He kicks my couch lightly. "How much are you selling this piece of shit for, anyway?"

I shrug. "How much do you think it would go for?"

"Fifty bucks…maybe. I don't know. Can I take a cigarette break?"

I laugh at his pouty expression and shake my head. "Dude, we have three more flights of stairs. You're going to have to wait."

"What are you calling me 'dude' for?" he grumbles. "My cock was in your ass a few nights ago. We're not bros."

I blush. "Do you have to say that so fucking loudly? Your neighbors will think I'm your mistress."

He smirks. "You are, though."

"Shut up and lift the couch."

He chuckles, but says nothing. We get it up the next two flights when he wants to stop, but I don't let him. Finally, it's in his apartment and he collapses on the ground.

"God," he sighs. "I fucking hate that couch."

"It probably doesn't care for you, either."

Mike glares at me playfully, eliciting a smile from me. I crack my neck and walk into the kitchen for a glass of water. It's weird; this is my home now. It happened so suddenly, too. It makes sense, though. It doesn't have to be a big deal. Despite what Mike says, this apartment is only about twenty percent nicer than mine, so if I'm paying half of the rent, it's less than what I was paying before. We work together, so that saves on gas, and I'm not leaving my car at the club anymore. We can fuck any time we want, and since people think we're friends, it's not suspicious.

Once I'm not dying of thirst, I return to the living room and kick Mike's side lightly. He huffs at me.

"I'm comfortable."

"Get up. I have to have the truck back by six."

"Asshole," he groans, but he stands up anyway. "You said I could have a cigarette break."

"We just have the table and chairs left; it should only be fifteen minutes."

Albeit begrudgingly, he follows me down the stairs and over to the moving truck. Thankfully, no one has bothered us with questions like 'Who are you?' and 'Why are you moving in with the scary pothead?' That's what's nice about San Diego. People know how to mind their own fucking business.

As I predicted, it doesn't take long to get the last of the furniture into the apartment. When we're done, Mike lets out a loud, obnoxious cheer and high-fives me. Then, he slaps my ass and pulls out his cigarettes.

"Thank god that hard shit is over," he says from behind the stick in his teeth. "What time is it?"

I pull out my phone. "Five thirty."

"Alright, game plan: you drive the truck back. I'll pick up some pizza and then pick you up. Is pepperoni okay?"

"I'm vegetarian, actually," I admit. "But it's cool. I can pick it off and you can eat it."

He snorts. "Why the fuck are you vegetarian?"

"Because fuck you, that's why," I mutter. Mike shakes his head.

"The cool kids stopped saying that in 2013. Get with the times, princess."

"No need to be a dick."

"Yeah, yeah, go ahead and pretend like it doesn't turn you on."

He winks at me, and I blush like a girl.

"Go take back the truck," he says while a puff of smoke escapes his mouth.

The truck feels about twenty times bigger than my car, so it's nerve-wracking to drive, but I manage to get it back to the rental place without breaking any laws of traffic or killing anyone. The man at the desk is grateful that I'm fifteen minutes early and insists that I'm the nicest customer he's dealt with all day. I thank him awkwardly, wary of the spit that has a habit of flying off his lip and landing in his bristly, salt-and-pepper mustache. I get out of there as quickly as I can; the longer he praises me, the more worried I am that he'll offer me head or something. I wait on the curb for about five minutes until Mike's car pulls up. He's blasting Drake like a douchebag. I make sure he sees the way I roll my eyes.

The smell of pizza is welcoming, as is the image of Mike in sunglasses and a sleeveless t-shirt despite it being forty-five degrees out and cloudy. I think he mostly does it to be funny.

"I'm going to rape this pizza," Mike informs me as I slide into the passenger seat and shut the door. I chuckle.

"Drake wouldn't like that, you know. He'd want you to wine and dine it, at least."

"Nah, this pizza's a slut. It doesn't need dinner; it just wants sex."

"I don't think that's what you're supposed to do with pizza."

"How would you know?" Mike counters. "You probably eat tofu."

On the short ride back, I convince Mike to turn on some better music, and he insists that I hand-feed him a slice while he drives. He has to keep both hands on the wheel, he claims. Funny, considering he has no problem texting at the stoplight. I humor him, though, holding up a slice to his mouth. On his first attempt, he misses purposely, opening his mouth wide and slathering his tongue all over my wrist. He practically giggles while I glare at him.

"You are really fucking happy," I note. "Why are you giggling?"

He snorts while he takes a real bite of the pizza. "I wasn't giggling," he says with his mouth full. "And dude, pizza. Pizza makes me happy." He shoots me a sheepish glance. "Also, I took a little coke."

"You're high?" I say in disbelief. "You better not crash this car. My bruises are just starting to disappear."

"I'm not even that high," he protests.

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

He glances at me, guesses incorrectly, and smiles proudly. My jaw drops in horror.

"Pull over. I'm driving."

"I was kidding!" he laughs. "Three fingers. Seriously, princess. Chill."

"You're an asshole," I complain. He grins.

"More pizza, slave."

"Hell no. If you're high, you should at least focus on driving."

Mike is willing to wait until we get back to the apartment complex for more pizza, although he jokes that I'll be punished for defying him. At least, I think it's a joke. He doesn't have any weird slave-master fantasies that I know of. When we pull in, he grabs the extra box from the back and practically sprints up the stairs to the door, muttering about having a nice date with sriracha. I make a mental note that Mike on cocaine is a lot to handle.

"You didn't lock your car," I remind him as I jog up the stairs carrying the other box. He presses a button on his keys and his car lights flash.

"Thanks, mistress," he winks at me. I groan.

"Please don't start with that. 'Princess' is bad enough."

"Come on," he says as he fumbles for his house key. "It's fucking hot. Admit it."

"Not really."

His sunglasses slip down his nose as he finally gets the door open. "Alright, your fucking highness," he says, tossing his box like a Frisbee onto my couch, which is shoved in the corner. "I'm hungry. Let's eat."

He's in the kitchen by the time I get the door closed and locked. I hear the clattering of his keys on the counter, the opening of the fridge, and a few bottles clinking together. He's back in an instant with two beers and two different kinds of hot sauce. He sets them on his cluttered coffee table, which is between his couch and his TV. Then, he sits and pats the spot next to him.

"Next time," I say as I set the pizza box down on the couch, eyeing the shitty Corona and plopping down. "I'll buy the beer."

"Right," he nods. "You're a beer snob."

He turns the TV on to Family Guy and grabs the slice of pizza I didn't let him finish in the car. This time, he has hot sauce at his disposal, and he slathers it all over before taking a massive bite. I follow suit, but not before picking off the pepperoni and placing it carefully in the corner of the box. The sky is beginning to darken, and the heater kicks in with a loud hum.

"So, tomorrow," he says between bites. "I'm going into town around four, and I can get you a key made. I won't be back until late, though, 'cause I have a few jobs to run, so you'll have to stay here if you don't want to get locked out."

"Not like I have a life anyway," I shrug.

"I guess that's true. You can use my laptop to sell your shit, but no snooping around on my files. The password to get on is W-H-I-S-K-E-Y-h-a-n-d-z-6-6-6."

I laugh and pop the top off of my shitty beer while Mike loads my pepperoni onto his next slice of pizza. "Should I even ask?"

"Let's just say, if you get me drunk enough, I think I can rap."

I shake my head. "Yikes."

Together, we manage to finish off a box of pizza and decide to save the other one for tomorrow. By now, our shoes are off and I'm huddled on one corner of the couch under a blanket while he takes up the rest with his long legs. It's a pretty weak episode of Family Guy, so my mind wanders as I sip my beer. I'm a huge worrier, and soon, I have a headache and I'm burning to ask Mike if anything happened with Vic. It's not like it's a taboo subject, so I do.

"Hey," I say quietly to get his attention. His eyes shift from the screen to me; his face is barely illuminated by the glow of the TV as the sky is black by now. "So, uh…is there any news as far as your brother goes?"

Mike sighs through his nose. "Well, he's pissed, but he doesn't blame you. Said he hates my dick or something." He snorts. "So I guess it doesn't matter, really. He's not stupid, so I'm sure he expects you and I to keep fucking. I'd say we're safe." He sets his beer down while a grin stretches onto his face, and I get a pretty good idea of what's coming next. Mike grabs my can from me, sets it on the coffee table, and pulls my blanket off of me.

"And speaking of that," he says. "I think we should celebrate moving you in. Agreed?"

I shrug as if I don't give a fuck, when really, oh god, I want this. Mike puts both hands on my knees and slides them down my thighs, making my heart rate spike.

"Bedroom," he murmurs, standing up without another word and slipping into the hallway. I have to hurry to follow him. He leaves the lights off, but it's easy enough to see from the glow of city lights out the window. It almost makes him look hotter; dim colors and deep shadows on his face. The first thing he does is shrug his shirt. I close the door, just because I'm paranoid, and he slams me up against it without warning, making a gasp catch in my throat.

"I want you hard and fast," he mutters in my ear, "and then we're going to fuck again, and maybe a third time if I'm feeling it. Sound good?"

"Fuck, anything," I hiss while he nips at my neck quickly. He hums, and I tilt my head to the side to expose more of my skin.

"Well," he says smoothly. "You didn't have a choice anyway."

He moves swiftly enough that only my body can react, and my brain is silenced. He shoves me upwards, forcing my legs off the ground to wrap around his waist. We're about the same height, but he's skinnier, so it's impressive. His hands grab onto the skin just above the waistline of my jeans, shoving my hips down to rub against his. I bite my tongue while he sucks a pulse point beneath my jaw. God, I'm not this submissive with most people, but he just demands it. I can't lie, either; it's a fucking turn-on.

"Here," he growls, holding my hips and moving them up and down, which rubs our cocks together. "Get us up." He retracts his hands and leaves me to carry on with the hip movements. He takes the time to lift my shirt over my head and cast it on the floor, running his hands up and down my torso and settling on my waist. I, meanwhile, hook my arms around his neck and rub out some friction in our pants.

"A little more," he breathes, nudging a spot near the center of my throat before nipping there and sucking gently. He sighs heavily against my skin while I throw my hips into his. When we're both suitably hard, he pulls me away from the door and throws me down onto the bed on my back.

Before I even realize what's happening, I'm naked. Mike pulls my pants and boxers off so quickly that my cock springs out and smacks against my stomach. This is the most impatient he's ever been. Maybe it's the coke. I'm less concerned with the science behind it and more concerned with him rummaging through his nightstand for supplies. Finally, he tosses a bottle of lube and a condom on the bed beside me and dives back in. He gets naked and down to business, obviously wanting to get off as quickly as he can, if only so that we can go again. Frankly, I'll take whatever he gives me. If he wants his dick in my mouth, fine. If he wants to fuck me with his fist, fine. Anything and everything with him is good.

"Will you take it on your hands and knees?" he asks in a voice that's silky, but lets me know he's dead serious. I get a lump in my throat from excitement rather than nervousness, and nod. He hefts me up by my waist before I can sit up myself, and I ease onto all fours. I've only been fucked like this once. It was intense, I know that much. I try not to make it obvious that I'm looking back, watching him fumble with the condom wrapper. As he rolls it on, he lines up behind me. Curling himself over my back, I feel his breath in my ear.

"I want you to make as many slutty noises as you can, got that?" he murmurs. I almost laugh.

"Uh huh."

"Good."

He retracts and lubes himself quickly before pushing in without warning. You don't tighten up much in a few days, but you do some, so it's a bit of a stretch, and I can't stop the ragged breath that falls from my lips. Mike doesn't skip a beat, grabbing my hips with both hands and rolling himself inside me. It's fast and rough, just like he said it would be. Each time he pushes in, it sends waves of pain and pleasure through me, earning uneven breathing and occasional moans. I may have lied to him before; I have the tiniest bit of a pain kink. I like to be abused. Maybe that's why I love Mike in the first place; obviously he'll abuse my feelings, and—oh god, he's doing an excellent job of abusing my ass right now.

He tightens his grip on my skin and mutters something I don't catch, which makes me moan behind my closed lips. I can tell Mike likes this, as he exhales hard and grinds inside me harder. Then, he hits my prostate unswervingly, and my mouth drops open while I let out a pathetic whimper.

"Oh, you like that?" he rumbles. I don't respond, too busy feeling him in my muscles. He repeats it, harsher, and I nod helplessly. He hums and slams inside me. I nearly drop my arms and land on my face on the bed. Instead, I push my ass backwards to meet his hips.

"You're a needy little slut, aren't you?" he croons.

I groan, "Maybe." He rubs circles on my hips with his thumb, which is funny since it's a loving gesture, yet he's gripping me tightly enough I'd be surprised if I didn't get bruises. Honestly, it's a nice combination. Paired with his cock brushing my prostate, I'm on cloud nine.

Not long after, I feel something building up inside me, and I tell him so. For once, he doesn't make me hold on, and instead growls in my ear that he wants me to come. A few more thrusts and I drop my arms for real, my face burying into the pillows while I groan and shoot my load on the bed. Right as I start dying down, Mike moans profanities and ceases his movements. Then, he pulls out and rolls to the side.

"Well, that was fun," he says lightheartedly while we catch our breaths. I chuckle my agreement. For the next twenty minutes, we lie there and chat until he starts to feel horny again and leans over to kiss my neck. I know that it's just like any other night, but something about the fact that I live here now and he's at least a little bit mine makes me glow inside. I'm really not an idiot, but sometimes I can be forgetful, and sometimes I like to pretend. It's nice to forget that Mike doesn't love me back. It's nice to pretend that everything will be fine.

I fall asleep that night in a stain of my own come with Mike's arm absently draped over mine. Forgetting and pretending really isn't so bad. Not right now.


	24. Chapter 24

"Tony, you need to get up _now_ ," Mike says urgently, cutting off a dream about a stegosaurus and a tattoo shop and a surprisingly good drag queen opera star. I crack my eyes open to see him frantically pulling on a shirt and throwing some tissues in the trash over the condoms. I sit up slowly and crack my neck.

"What's going on?" I ask, tasting my stale breath.

"Krista is outside. Get dressed. Make your bed look like you slept in it."

Those words are enough to send me tumbling off the side of the bed and reaching for the nearest pair of boxers I can find. They feel tight when I pull them on. Have I gained weight?

Obviously, I don't have time to think about it. I throw the covers from my side of the bed up to hide the obvious come stain. Then, I grab a shirt, pull it over my head, and scramble out the doorway. As I force a sheet onto my mattress, someone knocks on the front door. Mike races to answer it.

It might seem strange that I'm helping Mike cover his tracks considering I want him and Krista broken up, but here's the thing: I don't want this to end badly. Yeah, they should be over by now, but I trust Mike. Well, no I don't, but in this particular case, I do. I know he'll break up with Krista soon. It's almost fucking Christmas; he'd have to get her a fancy gift and I figure he'll do his best to get out of that. So really, there's no point throwing a fit right now and getting him in trouble. Krista is a really nice girl. If they broke up because of me, I could never forgive myself.

The sound of them kissing is faint, but it's audible, and it makes me sick to my stomach. I hate to be jealous. I really do. Mike and I are not together, but in light of recent events, it almost feels like we are. So I get possessive. I don't want her kissing those lips. It makes it seem like I'm the one being cheated on, not cheated with.

Regardless, I throw a pillow on my bed just in time to hear, "Whose couch is that?"

Mike explains, "Oh, uh, I got a new roommate. Did I not tell you? He moved in yesterday."

Krista hums. "Ah. Well, I wish you would've told me. Is he here? I was thinking we could, you know, get a little dirty. But if he's here, we'd better not."

The sick feeling in my stomach worsens while their voices grow closer. Mike and Krista getting 'dirty.' Mike and _anyone_ getting dirty. I don't want to think about that. Ever. Unless, of course, I'm participating. Krista's pretty hot. A threesome would be interesting.

Not that we would ever, ever do that. I'm just saying.

Their voices grow even closer while I dump my box of clothes on the floor to make the room seem a little more lived-in.

Mike says, "Yeah, he's here," and Krista sighs.

"Are we going to have to do it at my place now? Or is it just not our thing anymore? Like, you turned me down last time."

Mike turning down sex? No way.

"I'm sorry, babe," he laughs. "I was late for work."

Oh. That makes more sense.

With a stifled groan, I realize that my dresser isn't in here. It's in Mike's room. I pray to god that Krista won't notice.

She starts to say something, and then she stops. I realize her voice is right behind me and stop fiddling with boxes, instead standing up and turning around. There she is, in the doorway, with Mike right behind her.

"Uh, hey," I cough, smiling clumsily at her. I expect a bright, 'hello, nice to meet you!' or even a, 'nice to see you again!' because that's the type of person she is. But no. No, that's not what I get. She's staring at my crotch, and suddenly, I'm very conscious of how tight these boxers are.

Krista turns around and looks up at her boyfriend.

"Mike, are you cheating on me?"

My jaw drops, but Mike says coolly, "What? No, babe. Of course not."

Why would she think that just because she saw me? We met at the club and Jaime fucking kissed me. There's no way she could think something between me and Mike is going on. Doesn't she think Mike is straight?

"Mike, he's…." Krista puts a hand on her hip. "He's clearly wearing your underwear."

Oh. Well. That explains a lot.

Mike shoots me an accusatory look. "Dude, why are you wearing my underwear?"

Then, both pairs of eyes are on me, and my face heats up. "Uh, well, I thought they were mine. They were…they were on the floor, and, I just put them on."

"Tone, now she thinks I'm cheating on her."

"I'm right here, Mike," Krista snaps. He sighs and puts his hands on her shoulders.

"I'm not cheating on you. Babe, don't you trust me?"

She takes a long breath. "I'm not an idiot, okay? Just…let's…let's go talk outside."

"Babe, I'm not—"

"Outside. Please."

Mike closes his eyes in defeat and disappears from the doorway. Krista is quick to follow, but not before turning to me and saying, "I'd say it's nice to see you, but it's really not under these circumstances." Then, she smiles apologetically and leaves. Why is she apologetic? I let her boyfriend fuck me in the ass three times last night; I should be the sorry one. She should be glaring at me or saying vicious things. She really deserves better than Mike. I guess she's about to be free of him judging by the direction the conversation just went.

Great; now I get to feel jealous and guilty within ten minutes of waking up. I guess both are my fault. I shouldn't have gotten feelings for the guy I cheated with and effectively gotten him dumped. Whoops. But I don't need a pity party. Whatever happens happens.

Surprised by my own apathy, I end up dozing off on the freshly-made bed in Mike's boxers. This time, instead of a stegosaurus getting a tattoo and his drag-opera best friend trying to talk him out of it, I dream of goddamn grocery shopping until I'm shaken awake.

"I'm going into town," Mike murmurs. "I'll get you that key and shit. My laptop is in the dining room."

"What happened with Krista?" I croak as I turn my head to look at Mike. He shrugs.

"It's…it's over. She was mad. It kind of sucks that it didn't end on good terms, but it's fine. To be honest, she's kind of annoying, so I'd pick you over her any day."

I have to bury my face in the pillow to hide my satisfied grin when he says that. I shouldn't be glad that they broke up, but hell, he just said something fucking cute. Thankfully, he can't feel my heart flutter.

"Food's in the fridge. Make whatever. You could, like, invite Jaime over or something, since you two are B.F.F.s. Just don't make too much of a mess and whatever is cool."

"Hey," I murmur while I remember. "When you have free time, could you help me schedule an eye doctor appointment?"

He raises his eyebrows. "What for?"

"Because I'm blind as shit, dumbass."

"Yeah, obviously, but why do you need my help?"

I shrug. "I don't know. I'm just clueless."

He chuckles, "Sure, Tone," then slaps my ass lightly, which is becoming a common farewell between us, and he's gone. Should I feel bad smiling over a breakup? Probably. Does that stop me? Not a chance. Mike is mine. Almost. Kind of. Not really. But a 'not really' in this case is as good as a 'definitely.'

* * *

 

I guess crazy things happening on birthdays has become a pattern for me. On Grandmaster Bitch Zoe's birthday, Mike yelled at me and I had to dance with Jaime to fix it. On Mike and Alex's birthday, I got high, had sex, and got a roommate. Sierra Kusterbeck's birthday is December eighteenth, and it wins the title for Best and Most Unbelievable Thing to Happen to Me on Someone's Birthday. In fact, it probably wins Best and Most Unbelievable Thing to Happen to Me in My Life. But maybe I shouldn’t be a teenage girl about it.

Sierra is well-liked. It might be because she's hot; it might be because she's talented; it might be because she's a great partier. In any case, the people in the club are happy to celebrate her turning twenty-four. Although Austin is gay and pathetically in love with Aaron, he must also be a little bit in love with her too, as he finds the best, heaviest bands to play.

That night, I pull up to the club with Mike in my passenger seat. Really, he doesn't seem torn up at all about Krista. Wednesday night, he came home late, as promised, while I was trying to figure out how to use Craigslist. He insisted I take the laptop to his bed so that he could help me use it. I tried not to get too excited when he sat pressed up against me while we uploaded pictures from my phone to the internet. It was so domestic, but so, so comfortable, and I won't lie about loving Mike's warmth and the subtle shifts he made as he breathed. I think I'm done convincing myself not to get too attached. I've dealt with heartbreak. I'll deal with it with Mike when it comes.

But back to Thursday night. We part ways so as to not raise suspicion, and that's that. Around ten, Jaime comes in and latches to my side, gushing about how he 'hasn't talked to me in forever' and 'needs to hear every detail of my life.' He's a trooper for sure, bouncing back from being discarded like how he did.

We spoke on Sunday, but it was brief, and he hardly knows about what happened when I got beat up. I figured he was trying to keep his distance after accidentally ratting me out, but he insists that I've been AWOL. I guess I have, a tiny bit. I've been packing, moving, and sleeping mostly. He doesn't know I moved in with Mike, and there are consequences for keeping something like that from someone like Jaime.

"Oh my fucking god, dude," he screeches into his beer when I tell him. "Seriously, what the fuck? You can't just forget to mention that you moved in with the guy you've been fucking for…what, two months? You are unbelievable, Perry. Tell me how it happened."

So I do. I tell him about the weed, the sex, the goddamn cuddling; everything that happened between then and yesterday; and then I tell him about Krista. He's a surprisingly good listener, only interrupting every thirty seconds or so with an exclamation or a piece of unneeded input. When I'm done, he has finished off two beers and is reaching for the rum.

"You know, you could open up your tab again," I suggest. He groans.

"I hate paying for alcohol."

"Well, yeah, everyone wants free booze. But you got used to it when you were twenty-one, and you can get used to it now."

He grumbles, "Whatever. Maybe I'll open it back up next week." He pours two shots and downs them both while I serve some customers. Then, he puts the rum back on the shelf. Thirty four dollars so far.

"I think I'm going to try to get laid tonight," he muses while he scans the crowd. I hum in surprise, wiping down a glass and putting it under the counter.

"It would be good for you," I encourage. He squints at me accusingly.

"I'm not some depressed basket case, bro."

"I know," I defend. "I'm just saying. It'd be decent closure."

"I don't need closure. All that shit is behind me; I don't even really think about it anymore."

"Whatever," I sigh, not entirely believing him but not wanting to argue about it. If Jaime wants to have a one-night-stand like old times, I'm happy for him. It means he's ready to move on. And the sooner he moves on, the sooner he'll be back to his usual happy, ADHD self; fucking girls, gossiping, and making horrible jokes.

Around eleven, the night really starts to pick up. Topless girls dance on tables, which, admittedly, I enjoy. Someone breaks out the coke. Tequila and vodka are in popular demand. Jaime wants to go party, and I tell him he needs to grab me a few crates first, to which he begrudgingly complies. It's while he's gone that Sierra shows up.

"Tony," she practically shrieks, clearly fucked up on something. She laughs and leans in to the counter.

"Happy birthday," I say methodically, although an intoxicated Sierra isn't unpleasant company, and I'm not exactly unhappy to see her. She grins up at me, putting her chin in her hands.

"Yeah, thanks dude. It's been wild."

"What can I get for you?"

She giggles. "Oh, no. No, no, no, no. That's not what I came over here for."

I half-chuckle. "Well, fuck. What is it, then?"

She trails her finger down my arm and peeks up through her eyelashes. "After your shift ends, maybe you could take me home and fuck me. How does that sound?"

"Uh…." I smile timidly. "Yeah, sorry. Not tonight."

Sierra groans and splays out on the counter dramatically. "Why not?"

"I moved, and I share a bed with my roommate right now," I say a little too honestly. But hell, Scott Pilgrim.

"So?"

"So, we can't fuck while he's just lying there trying to sleep."

"I wouldn't mind a threesome."

I laugh. "To be honest, neither would I."

"So let's fuck."

"I said not tonight. I really am sorry, though."

Sierra rights herself and adjusts her shirt. "Okay, okay, fine. But since I'm willing to bet you didn't get me a birthday present, I demand a kiss."

I raise my eyebrows. "You want me to kiss you?"

"Yep. Nice and hot."

With a sigh, I scratch my forehead. "Well…I mean, I guess so."

"Oh, you sure know how to make a girl feel special."

I chuckle. "You know I didn't mean it like that. You're a babe."

"Yeah, I'm hot, I know. Now come here."

Without warning, she reaches an arm across the counter and pulls my head to hers. Our lips meet suddenly; I expect to feel stubble and a lip ring, since that's what I'm used to kissing, but Sierra is nothing but soft, clean skin. Our mouths work together for only a few seconds. Physically, it feels better to kiss a girl because they're so silky and subtle, but I pull away with a strange feeling in my stomach, like I need to kiss Mike immediately to wash that away. I'm almost guilty, which is fucking dumb. I can kiss whoever the fuck I want. Mike? Yes. Sierra? Yes. Jaime? If I really wanted to, I'm sure he'd let me. But when I think about it, Mike's the only one I want to kiss. I guess that's what being in love does to you. It makes you pathetically devoted whether you're in a relationship or not.

"Not bad," Sierra murmurs. "Now I've got to go find someone to fuck me." She pecks me one more time. "Later, Tony."

She winks, and then she's gone as fast as she showed up. I don't have much time to think about anything with the number of people demanding drinks. It's not a normal night per se, but it's not strange, at least not while I'm at work. Jaime comes back with the boxes, and I entice him with the story of Sierra demanding I kiss her. He finds it hilarious, and then wonders aloud if she would have sex with him. I tell him to go for it, and he leaves.

After my shift, I clock out and sit in the car while I wait for Mike to finish up. It's a long wait. I play Tetris on my phone until he opens the passenger door around 3:45 and slides in.

"Hey," I greet, putting my phone down and reaching for the keys to put in the ignition. "How was work?"

As I back out and pull onto the road, it becomes clear that he's not going to say anything. I glance at his steely face in confusion.

"Did you hear me?"

"Oh, yeah," he says in his classic faux-sweetness voice. "I heard you."

I begin to ask him what his problem is, but he turns the radio up to drown me out. I furrow my eyebrows, although I say nothing and keep driving.

When we pull up to the apartments, he gets out first, shoves his hands in his pockets, and marches up the stairs. He unlocks the door and goes inside, but he closes it before I'm even on the landing.

"Okay then," I mutter, fishing out my keys once again and unlocking the apartment. When I get inside and slip my shoes off, Mike is clinking around for a beer in the kitchen.

I lean up against the doorframe, studying him. He's pissed off about something. About what, I can't tell. When he sees me watching, he narrows his eyes.

"Why are you looking at me all arrogant?" he demands, popping the top off his drink and taking a massive chug.

"I'm not…I'm not fucking arrogant," I argue. "I'm trying to figure out what you're all pissed about."

"Like it's your goddamn problem."

I put my hands up defensively. "Alright, whatever. I'm going to go to bed."

When he doesn't respond, I set off for the bathroom to brush my teeth. I figure it must be something petty if he's being so immature about it. And if he wants to be a child, I can't stop him. I'll just have to wait it out.

When I'm shrugging my jeans and I'm about to get into bed, Mike storms in with his half-empty beer and a sour expression. He slams the drink down on his dresser and opens the top drawer.

"What are you doing?" I can't help but ask.

He barks, "Looking for my goddamn cigarettes."

"Okay, you fucking drama queen," I mutter, not intending for him to hear it, but I realize I was a little louder than planned when he snaps his eyes up to glare daggers at me. Sheepishly, I toss my pants to the side.

"It would help me be less pissed at you if you'd stop being a little bitch," Mike hisses. I frown.

"Wait…you're pissed at _me_?"

He rolls his eyes. "You thought I was just pissed at the world? Yeah, I'm fucking pissed at you."

"Well, I just thought…wait, what the hell did I do?"

He clearly can't find what he's looking for when he slams the dresser drawer in frustration. "What did you do?" he laughs cynically. "How about you quit playing dumb? I think it's pretty fucking obvious."

I sigh. "How about _you_ stop beating around the bush? I don't know what the hell you're talking about, and now you're just dragging this out."

"No, I'm not going to spell it out for you. Obviously, you want the satisfaction of me saying it, and I'm not going to give you that."

"God," I groan. "Quit being melodramatic. What did I do?"

Mike folds his arms. "Well, clearly if I was pissed about you fucking her, I wouldn't take kindly to you kissing her in the middle of the fucking club like she was your girlfriend."

"This is about Sierra?" I ask incredulously, stunned that Mike would give a fuck.

"Yeah, this is about Sierra."

"What's your goddamn issue with her?"

"My issue with her is my business."

I snort. "Great, so quit taking it out on me."

"You fucking know well I don't like her and it was a dick fucking move for you to do that."

"No, you know what? That's bullshit. You don't get to be all pissed just because I kissed her," I spit.

"Why the fuck not?"

"Because you don't own me!" I laugh. "You and I are not dating, Mike."

"Yeah? Well, maybe we should be!"

"That's what you fucking want? Fine!"

"Fine!"

The air is tense and silent for a few moments until my anger dissolves and reality sets in. Mike seems to realize what he said when his eyes widen.

"Did…did you mean that?"

I swallow, "Uh…yeah," figuring it best to own up to it. If he's going to take it back, I'll just get rejection now rather than later. "Did you?"

He crosses the room and puts his hands on my shoulders, sending my heart into a frenzy. "Yeah," he says quietly. "Yeah, I think I did."

"Oh."

He peers at me for a few moments.

"So…just to verify, we're dating now."

"Mhm," I nod carefully. He half-grins.

"Okay, so…."

He starts to lean in, but I step back and say, "Wait, wait." He frowns while I sit on the bed. "Just…we're, like…together now, okay? So that means no fucking other people. No flirting with other people."

"Yeah, obviously," he shrugs.

"You cheated on your last ex," I deadpan.

"Yeah, with _you_ ," he points out. I sigh.

"I know. My point is, I don't exactly trust you. So if you cheat on me, I won't be surprised. That doesn't mean it's okay, because I'll be fucking pissed off, and I'll probably castrate you, but I want you to be honest about it if you do."

"If I'm honest about it, will we break up?"

I smile stonily at him. "How about you just don't cheat?"

"Alright," he laughs. "I won't. But the same goes for you, Perry."

"Fine, fine," I grin.

He pushes me onto my back and climbs onto my lap.

"So…I think we should fuck now."

"Okay."

"First time it's morally legal."

I chuckle. "Yeah."

It's also the first time my heart doesn't feel conflicted. It's like a weight has been lifted off of me; like I can feel whatever the fuck I want. And that feels great.

Maybe things will be okay.


	25. Chapter 25

Dating Mike.

Dating Mike is strange, although things aren't really all that different. There's tons of fucking (no surprise). There's a little more security than before; obviously, it's at least a little past lust for him since there would be no point for him to be tied down if he didn't care about me escaping. So now I have a guarantee that he has feelings for me, which does wonders to my mood. For obvious reasons, we're keeping it quiet. By Sunday, I haven't even told Jaime, and I don't intend to do so for as long as I can avoid it. But I don't need to tell anyone. I have my own happiness and someone to sleep next to at night. Someone who won't cheat on me for at least a few months, by my estimates.

Aw. How romantic.

It's Mike's turn to drive, so I relax in the passenger seat until we pull up to the club. When we park, I move to get out, but he stops me with a hand on my knee. He checks in the rearview mirror to make sure no one's watching before grabbing the front of my jacket and pulling me in for a lingering kiss. I suppress a smirk after he pulls away and pats my leg.

"Have fun at work, you stud," he winks, earning a chuckle from me. I grin at him one last time before going inside to clock in.

My good mood subsides when I see how Alan looks at me. It's unsettling; a mixture of smugness, accusation, and feigned ignorance. He's pretty quiet while I sign my time sheet, and I leave his office wondering what the fuck is up with him.

When I get to work, it's quickly forgotten, and I serve drinks like normal until an hour later when I see Jaime leaving Austin's office and I start to get the sense that something is wrong.

In my jumpiness, I pull out my phone and type out a quick text to Mike.

_Jaime just came out of Austin's office? Thought you should know, seems suspicious. I'll try to talk to him_

"Tony," says Alan suddenly from across the bar. "Austin wants you in his office." He turns to Oli, who's just coming down the stairs. "Oliver, would you take over the bar for the rest of the night?" Alan has that self-righteous look on his face, and I start to really get nervous. I must have done something. I mean, obviously I have, but Austin has found out. If he wants Oli at the bar for the rest of the night, I figure I'm getting far more than a lecture. I can say with ninety percent certainty that I'm about to go through something absolutely shit.

Alan says sweetly, "Do you know where Mike is, Tony?" and my throat tightens. "Austin wants to talk to him as well."

"I, uh, I don't know," I say honestly. Alan gives me a steely look, but nods, and points toward the hallway. Not wasting any time, which would only piss Alan off, I duck under the barrier, handing Oli my keys.

When I step into Austin's office, his desk is completely cleared off. He's sitting back in his chair casually, as if he's not about to completely fuck me over, literally. I gulp and wait for him to say something.

"You're here," he says evenly. He points in front and slightly to the right of his desk to a spot to the right. I stand where he wants me to. It's probably best to just blindly conform. A few tense minutes pass, and my heart rate never slows down while he switches between staring up at the ceiling and staring at me. "Fuck," he mutters eventually. "If Fuentes is skipping out, I'm going to fucking kill him."

I feel myself growing a little defensive at his words, but before my face can betray me, the door opens.

"Found him, Aus," says Alan's arrogant voice. He throws Mike into the room, who glares at him. "He was hiding out by the stage."

"I wasn't hiding," Mike protests.

"Shut your mouth if you know what's good for you," Alan commands with a stony expression. Alan isn't scary, but in this case, since he and Austin are on the same side, it's best to respect him, and Mike knows that.

"Thanks, 'Lan," Austin says, beaming at Alan. "You're dismissed."

Alan leaves after that, and Austin studies Mike. "Fuentes," he says. "Stand by Perry." Mike steps forward and takes his place to my left. I feel his gaze on me. I can't say for sure what he's thinking; he could be blaming me for getting caught, or he could be feeling guilty. I'm too scared to look.

Austin takes a deep breath and puts his arms behind his head. "So. I heard something very interesting on Thursday." Mike and I say nothing. "You know, Perry, you could've told me you were beat up. See, there I was, getting pissed at you for leaving the bar unattended. I had no idea Tino was beating your ass. Instead, I had to hear it from Justin Hills."

He looks at me calculatingly, and I fidget under his gaze. Now, I'm confused. Are we here because Tino beat me up? That wouldn't explain why he brought Mike in, though. I sneak a glance at Mike; he looks completely collected.

"Obviously," Austin continues. "I brought Tino in for questioning. A little last night, a little earlier this evening. I mean, I wasn't just going to let him get away with pummeling you. I had to find out why he did it. Want to know what he told me?" Austin studies us for a few moments. "He told me that he only did it because you—" He points to Mike. "—were cheating on your girlfriend with you." He points to me. Then, he sits back in his chair again. "Is that true?"

Mike and I exchange glances, but it's too brief for me to interpret his expression. I swallow before speaking up.

"Yes, sir, that is true."

Mike widens his eyes in alarm, as if to say, 'we could've gotten away with it, you idiot!' But he's wrong. The fact that we're in here at all means that Austin has proof.

Austin folds his arms. "Smart of you not to lie. You'd better keep that up. I just have a few more questions. First," he says loudly. "Perry. You knew about the girlfriend, correct?"

"Yeah. Er, yes. Yes, sir."

Austin snorts. "Alright. Fuentes, this is a long-term girlfriend. True?"

" _Was_ ," Mike corrects, sounding a hell of a lot braver than I feel. "She _was_ a long-term girlfriend."

"I really don't give a fuck about the technicalities. I'll humor you, though. When did you two break up?"

Mike sighs. "Uh…a few days ago."

"That's what I thought. And how many times did you put your dick in Perry's ass before then?"

"Plenty," Mike says coolly. Austin takes a deep breath as his gaze hardens.

"How many?" he repeats.

"How the fuck should I know?"

Austin hums. "Well, this is interesting. You don't know?"

"No, sir," Mike says cynically.

"Hmm. I expected that you would. See, I spoke with Jaime Preciado, and he told me that the two of you were only humping like teenagers because of some sort of cocaine debt. Five dollars for every fuck, right? So why haven't you been counting?"

Mike says nothing, and Austin looks to me. My knees weaken at his stare.

"Um," I cough. "Well, sir, we _were_ counting, but Mike dropped my debt."

"I see," Austin murmurs. "And why is that?"

I frown. "Well, uh, I'm not really sure, exactly." He looks to Mike, who is folding his arms and wincing.

"Enlighten me, Fuentes," says Austin. Mike huffs.

"I dropped his fucking debt because I didn't need or want his money. I knew we'd keep fucking anyway. There was no point anymore."

Austin leans forward. "Is that so?" He taps his fingers on his desk, the sound shooting shivers through me. "Perry, I have a question for you, now."

My throat tightens. "Yes, sir?"

"You're not actually a cokehead, are you?"

I shake my head. "No, sir."

"And you bought…what was it, two-hundred-fifty dollars worth of coke? In one night?" He smiles charmingly. "Why did you do that?"

I resist the urge to sigh, instead saying evenly, "Because I thought Mike was hot."

Austin chuckles. "Damn. Well, you sure know how to impress a cheapskate drug dealer. So, let's see: Perry wanted to be Fuentes' cockslut, he blew a quarter grand on coke, couldn't pay it back for whatever reason, Fuentes said, 'hey, be my personal prostitute and I won't sic my connections on your ass.' Does that all sound accurate?"

"Well…more or less," I say timidly. Mike just rolls his eyes.

"Right," says Austin. "And both of you were and continue to be aware of the rule I have against relations between employees?"

Mike and I both nod. Here it comes. Here it fucking comes.

"Hmm." Austin takes a long, agonizing breath. "I consider myself a fair man. I've had several people tell me so, so I don't feel bad saying it. And rules, I think, are important." He stands up and turns around, clasping his hands behind his back and pacing the length of the room. "This is a successful business. People like it, I make money, _you_ make money, and we haven't had a single run-in with the law. Not one. And do you know why that is?"

It's a rhetorical question, and it's silent while Austin prepares his elaboration.

"This business," he says, "is carefully orchestrated with rules, guidelines, and structure. If one fucking hair falls out of place, you, me, and everyone on the other side of this wall will be arrested. That's how it is. And since I started this business, I haven't let a single hair fall out of place. I care about what I have going. I care about the service we provide for people, and I won't lie—I care about my ass currently not being behind bars.

"It's a minefield, you know. And I'm a smart guy if I've been able to keep it from blowing up for this long. That's why I expect my employees to show me respect by following my rules. I make them for a reason. It's not just so that I can be your dick boss who won't let you do the shit you want." He snaps his gaze to me. "I make rules to be followed. If they aren't followed, we are all jeopardized. I don't want some huge dispute, legal or otherwise, just because _you_ , Perry, can't keep your fucking mouth off of Fuentes' dick!"

He slams his fist on his desk and I can't even stop myself from flinching.

"And you—" He turns to Mike, who just stands there, stony. "I did you a huge fucking service letting you work here. God, a _massive_ one. A thousand dollars every night, and all I ask is half? You can't tell me you're not grateful for that. That's about seventy dollars an hour. It's outrageous." Austin laughs dryly. "Because of me, you're loaded, yet you disrespect the easiest, most basic rule I give you, and for what? Perry's nice ass?" He shakes his head. "That's unacceptable, and you're not going to get away with it."

It's excruciatingly silent while Austin stares Mike down, then sits on top of his desk, studying us both. If this goes on for much longer, I might pass out.

"You two are familiar with the fine-print treatment, correct?"

My heart leaps to my throat, and I'm sure I visibly pale. Austin notices, and he smirks.

"Good. We're caught up, then." He stands, then growls, "Fuentes, up against the wall, now."

"What the hell are you going to do?" Mike challenges. God, what a dumbass. I silently pray that he won't say anything else, but I'm sure that it's in vain.

"Oh, don't worry, sweetheart," Austin says with a sweetness that reminds me eerily of Mike when he's pissed. "Nothing to you, yet."

"I wasn't asking for me."

I look to Mike in perplexity while he and Austin exchange glares.

"Fuentes, if you don't shut your fucking mouth, I just might bring out the knives."

The threat does nothing short of terrifying me, and it's even enough to make Mike back up to lean against the wall. He folds his arms, trying for defiance, but I can see the apprehension in his eyes.

Austin grabs my face with one hand, tilting my chin up so that I'm looking at him. He looks downright predatory, and I can't hold eye contact for more than a few seconds.

Then suddenly, he's kissing me, and I gasp into his mouth in surprise. For a kiss, it's rough. His nose smashes against my cheek; his teeth grate against mine while he pries my mouth open with his tongue. I feel a little guilty that Mike has to watch this, since he's obviously the jealous type, but mostly, I'm fearful of what's to come.

When Austin gets bored of the kiss, he shoves me toward his desk—hard. Hard enough that I crash into it, effectively bruising my hip and catching my fall with my elbow on the surface of the desk. I instinctively right myself, warily looking to Austin to see what he'll do next.

"Clothes off," he demands, his voice just the right concoction of angry and business-like. "You humiliated me by breaking my rules; I humiliate you by treating you like an animal. Animals don't wear clothes."

With shaky hands, I reach to lift my shirt over my head, but I'm interrupted by Mike's frantic voice.

"Stop!" he says. "Carlile, he's not a fucking animal. I don't know what weird-ass fantasies you have, but I...I can't let this happen. I can't let you fuck Tony, and I certainly can't let you degrade him."

Austin's eyes burn, but he keeps his composure as he folds his arms and turns around to fix his eyes on Mike, who is faithfully leaned up against the wall. "Do I need to remind you," Austin says calmly, "who is in charge here? Do I need to remind you of the contract that you— _both_ of you—signed? I am the boss. You two are powerless. You defied me, and now you get to pay the consequences."

He starts to turn back around, but Mike isn't done.

"Hey, fuck the contract." He scoffs. "The rule we broke is a stupid fucking rule. Do you think the cops are going to know about this place just because I fucked Tony? Yeah, I don't think so."

Austin narrows his eyes. "It's far more complicated than that; not that I would expect you to understand. You're here to look pretty and sell drugs." He walks slowly over to Mike, eyeing him up and down, and I get a protective urge to go mark my territory, but I'm rooted to my spot. I see Mike's Adam's apple bob as he swallows.

"You need me, Carlile," he says in a low voice. "I'm responsible for probably half of the cash you take home. Trust me; I get why you don't like what we did. I'm a businessman, too. But you put your tiny cock near Tony, and you're going to regret it."

Holy shit. What a fucking dumbass. I almost start laughing out of sheer terror at the look Austin is giving Mike. Then, he swings his fist up to collide with Mike's nose. I swear I hear a crack; Mike curses and covers the impact point with his hand.

"I am your goddamn boss," Austin booms. "You will not speak to me that way. Perry, I want you out of the room."

"Wh-what?" I manage.

"Out. Now. But don't go far; we're not done."

On shaky legs, I cross the room and open the door, casting one last sympathetic glance toward Mike before leaving and shutting the door behind me.

It's made of the same dense metal as the main entrance, so, despite being half as thick, it's soundproof against anything that isn't loud. I don't even try eavesdropping; instead slumping against the wall and sitting down.

Mike is so fucked. I don't know what the hell he was thinking, telling Austin he has a small dick. Speaking at all was probably a mistake. I mean, yeah, we were both fucked anyway, but he made it a thousand times worse for himself being so overconfident. At least everything he said was true (although the part about Austin's dick is only based on rumor).

I pull my phone out of my pocket and type a text out to Jaime since he clearly knows something about this. _Did you talk to Austin?_

His reply comes a minute later. _Yeah heads up, he knows about Mike._

_I gathered that much when he yelled at me and demanded for me to take my clothes off_ , I respond. My phone vibrates an instant later.

_What the hell?!?!?! Are you in his office?!?! Are you texting me while he rapes you?!?!_

_Jaime chill_ , I type. _Where are you? I'm outside his office_

_I went home :( Wtf happened?_

I tell him we can talk about it later before putting my phone away. I'm not really in the mood to type out a huge explanation just so that Jaime can be up to date right this second. Glancing warily at the office door, I decide to stand and make my way over to the bar. A beer would do me good. Oli looks surprised to see me.

"Figured you'd be getting fucked by now. What's going on?"

I shake my head. "Bad shit. Mike tried to defend us and Austin is having a 'word' with him alone."

Oli hisses. "That sounds messy. How did you two get caught, anyway?"

"Tino's a goddamn snitch," I grumble. "Could you get me a beer? Something good?"

"Sure," Oli nods. He grabs me one, slides it across the counter, and pulls out the tab sheet. "I warned you to be careful," he scolds.

"No you didn't," I snort.

"Yeah, telepathically."

I pop the cap and take a drink, the cold doing well for the tightness in my throat.

"Thanks," I tell him. "I should probably go back over there."

"Alright, man. Good luck, I suppose."

I thank him one more time, then take my beer back over to the hallway. It's still silent by the door, so they must not be yelling yet. With a dramatic sigh that helps me lighten up, I sit down and bring the bottle to my lips.

It does help my nerves, the beer. I manage to refrain from panicking and instead listen to whoever the hell is playing over the speakers right now. It's somebody with a gritty-sounding guitar and wailing lungs. It's not bad, but not my cup of tea, either. The people who stumble into the bathrooms are too drunk or too ready for sex to notice me, which I'm thankful for. There are plenty of girls here who are looking for boyfriends, and when I'm not working the bar, I happen to be a candidate. I'm really not in the mood for fending off tipsy, desperate chicks who want into my pants, and then want me to tell them I love them afterwards. Maybe that's why I always end up dating guys. Girls are hot and everything; I just don't get how their minds work.

One discarded empty beer bottle and fifteen minutes later, Austin's door opens. My heart rate picks up, but he looks considerably calmer, and I let myself relax. I'm still a little on edge obviously, but I'm less inclined to believe he'll immediately shove his dick in my ass.

"Come in," he says simply. "We have some things to discuss."

I stand, brush the invisible grime off of my jeans, and follow him inside his office. As he closes the door, I take in the sight of Mike, light swelling on his nose, leaning his hip against the wall and looking pretty self-satisfied. I tilt my head in curiosity; he just half-grins at me.

Austin goes immediately to his desk, sits down, and props his feet up. What the hell did Mike say to tranq him after getting him pissed enough to throw a punch? Whatever the case, the ice still feels thin, so I don't say anything, even though I have questions burning on my tongue.

Austin blows air out his nose and studies me. "There has been a slight change in the rules in regards to you."

I raise my eyebrows and glance at Mike, who winks.

"You see, Perry," Austin continues. "Besides fucking Fuentes behind my back, you have been an excellent employee. Never complaining, always speaking to your superiors with respect, the whole nine. I have decided that I trust you.

"Now, _him_ ," Austin gestures with his head to Mike. "I don't trust. You're a guy who wants only what he needs. Fuentes is a guy who wants whatever the hell he can get his grubby little paws on. If there was reward money involved, I'm sure he'd sell me out to the police in a heartbeat." He pauses to crack his neck.

"It has come to my attention that, if I have any hopes of corporate advancement in the future, I may require the additional funds that I receive from narcotic distribution. It would be smart of me to accommodate this capitalist little snake so that he doesn't go running off, finding a better job, or selling me out. He and I negotiated that, as a reward for his _generous_ service to me and my businesses, you two are free to have whatever sexual or romantic relations you want."

My jaw practically drops. "I...are you serious?"

Austin chuckles. "Yes, Perry. I'm serious. I'm not very excited about it, but I think it's a fair compromise. I know when I'm beat, and in this case, our little arrangement will get us all out on top."

"Well, shit," I mutter, looking in astonishment to Mike.

"However," Austin says loudly. "As punishment for breaking my initial rule, for the rest of December and the entirety of January, you get to surrender whatever tips you make to me."

It's a hell of a lot better than what I had coming thirty minutes ago, so I agree without putting up a fight.

After some brief discussion, Austin dismisses us for the night, but not before letting me know that I'll be in deep shit if I break any more rules. I assure him I wasn't planning on it, and then I find myself outside his door with Mike.

"How the fuck did you get him from totalitarian to whatever the hell that in there was?" I ask him. He smirks and starts walking down the hall.

"That's for me to know."

I roll my eyes. "Great. Keeping secrets. Excellent start to this relationship."

He gives me a sheepish glance. "I did a little passive-aggressive threatening. Told him I could easily fuck him over to help out Swan."

I whistle, grateful he decided to stop being an arrogant little shit and tell me why my boss was willing to go back on his word. "That was enough for him to let us keep fucking? Or...I guess, date?"

Mike shrugs. "I may have auctioned off part of my pay check."

"How much?"

"Just fifteen percent. It's sixty-five/thirty-five now."

"That's a lot," I gape. "Do you really think it was worth it?"

He snorts. "Obviously. I wasn't going to let him fuck you like that and then do the same to me. Anyway, it's the least I could do after _you_ got us caught."

"You blame me?" I ask in dismay. He bumps my hip.

"I was joking."

"Oh. Well, it doesn't help that you seem to have a problem with authority."

"Hey, I got us out of it, didn't I? _And_ I got us a bit of a bonus." When we round the corner, Mike slips an arm around my waist and calls, "Hey, Oli, watch this." Then, he pushes me up against the counter, grabs my face with both hands, and attacks my lips with his. I hum in surprise, but then I ease into the kiss and hold his waist because, _yeah_ , we can do this now.

When the kiss breaks, I count four people clapping for us. I laugh and try to pull away from Mike, but he keeps me trapped against the counter while he fills Oli in on what happened. There are a few drunken congratulations offered to us before we finally have the chance to leave. Then, Mike puts a hand on the small of my back and guides me out the door, murmuring how he won the battle against Austin and fully intends to show off his prize.

"We're going to fuck when we get home, right?" I ask just as we're about to climb the stairs. It's a mistake; Rian decides to make it his business and ask what the fuck is going on. Then, we have to stop and explain it to him. Rian and I are acquaintances at best, but I'd say we're on good terms, so he's happy for us. Mostly, I think he just resents Austin and likes anyone who can beat the system. Either way, I have no problem with anyone knowing about me and Mike since the whole contract issue is out of the way now.

"To answer your question," Mike says once we escape. "Yes, we are going to fuck. I kind of think I need to mark my territory now. I did not like watching Austin kiss you."

I laugh. "I guess you are the jealous type."

"Not even going to argue."

When we get to the car, he pushes me up against the trunk and kisses me again. I get those stupid, dumb butterflies in my stomach as I return the kiss and hold his waist. For good measure, I pat his ass before slipping out of his grip and into the passenger seat.

Oh yeah, we are going to fuck when we get home.


	26. Chapter 26

Fast forward ten days to New Year's Eve and you'll find me in the kitchen of my apartment with a few guests in the living room, a beer in my hand, and an emotion so swelling and big I'm certain I'm going to burst and paint the room with blood at any moment.

But let's get caught up first.

I knew what I was getting myself into by not immediately calling Jaime after I woke up last Monday. It was just so warm in bed, and I had a sleeping Mike breathing on my lips and I was a little more focused on that. Afterwards, I took a shower, and then I ate breakfast, and then I felt like skating, so by the time I had a free moment it was four in the afternoon and my phone was blowing up.

As expected, he was pissed at me for not telling him what happened at work right when it happened, but I reasoned that I couldn't exactly text him live updates, and I was busy with other shit (having great sex) afterwards. That got him to calm down, although he complained that I never tell him anything anymore. Really, I think he's insecure that I have someone in my life to replace him as the person I care the most about. Not that Mike really trumps Jaime. I'd say they're tied; it's just that I wouldn't want Jaime to stick his boner up my ass, so Mike gets extra points for that.

Dutifully, I fill him in on everything he doesn't know, until he starts to ask questions that are a little too personal for me to talk about on the phone when Mike will be out of the shower at any time. I make up an excuse about having to leave, and Jaime complains some more, but I remind him that we're spending Christmas together since both of our families still hate us, and he backs off.

It's a quiet Christmas. I agonize for hours two days before on what I should get for Jaime and Mike. The stores are packed; I end up driving out of the city and two towns over to escape the crowds and grab a few dumb things I figure they'll like. For Jaime, I get a new hookah, a Coheed & Cambria t-shirt, and a novelty alien Playboy magazine. For Mike, I get mango cigarettes, an enormous bottle of hot sauce, and a Slytherin scarf. Christmas morning, Mike and I open our presents quickly, end up having shower sex, and get out the door by eleven. He drives to his parents' house; I drive to Jaime's.

It's nice to have a day just for Jaime and I. We give our gifts and then watch a few cheesy Hallmark movies. Of course, he spends a lot of the time blabbering and asking me awkward questions like if Mike's knuckles feel good inside my asshole. Thankfully, I'm used to how he shamelessly crosses boundaries, so I chalk it up to a good day. I end up crashing on his couch and not going home until six the following day to get ready for work.

On the twenty-seventh, I'm making a grilled cheese in the kitchen when Mike comes home and asks if we can have a few people over for New Years' Eve. I tell him sure, as long as I don't have to buy the drinks.

At nine on the thirty-first, people start to show up. Vic is first, as Mike wanted his help getting all the alcohol out on the table. I expect to see Kellin at his side, since they're usually attached at the hip, but he's absent. Mike tells me it's because Kellin hates his guts for hurting his sister. Understandable, of course. It doesn't mean I can't think Kellin's a little bitch.

Next is Jaime and Jack; Alex has a gig, but will show up later. By ten, Oli, Josh, Justin, Tay, Jenna, Sierra, and Valerie are all scattered throughout the apartment with drinks and the buzz of chatter.

It's when I'm talking with Jaime and Jack about Jack's new car that I get a tap on the shoulder. I turn around to see Vic Fuentes, hands in his pockets, neutral expression on his face.

He gestures with his head to the hallway and turns around, so I excuse myself and follow him.

"Hi," he says when we're alone.

"What's up?" I ask warily. He's been civil so far tonight, but I'm well aware that he's not my biggest fan, so I'm not expecting him to say anything about the weather.

"Uh...so, you and Mike," he says. I nod slowly and eye him.

He continues, "Look, I know I've been kind of a bitch to you in the past, and I guess I'm sorry for that. I'll be honest; I don't exactly like you, but that's based on what I know about you, which is that you serve drinks and you helped my brother cheat on his girlfriend." He grins nervously and scratches his forehead. "I guess I'm just letting you know that I won't hold a grudge, but I'm not going to jump right on your boat."

"So...what, I'm on probation or something?"

He shrugs. "I guess. I don't want to be a bitch about the fact that you're with Mike, 'cause, hell, he's happy. I'm just not promising that I'll like you." Louder, he says, "I don't know. I don't really know you. I guess what I'm trying to say is, I'll do my best not to judge you based on what you've done, but if you turn out to be a dick, I won't exactly sit by and let you get your dick germs all over my brother. Fair?"

I chuckle. "Yeah, that's fair."

Of course, Vic will probably still make me nervous while he's around, considering I don't know his definition of 'dick,' but he seems like an alright guy besides being an overprotective brother, so I'm not overly worried.

"So...we're starting over, then?" asks Vic. I shrug.

"Guess so."

He sticks out his hand and smiles. "I'm Vic. Hurt my little brother and I'll make you wish you'd never been born."

I grin and shake his hand. "I'm Tony. Wasn't planning on it."

"Good." He smiles one more time, then returns to the living room, leaving me standing in the hallway feeling a mixture of confused and relieved. It's not that I necessarily think I'll be with Mike for the rest of my life; because, realistically, we'll probably break up eventually; but it's refreshing to have his brother off of my ass. I'd say Mike and I are serious. Hell, I live with him, even if the circumstances are a little out of order. Either way, he's a pretty massive part of my life, and I don't want it to be awkward for him at family dinners if he decides to bring me along and Vic is glaring daggers at me the whole time. Thankfully, it seems we won't have that problem unless I'm actually a huge douchebag and I just don't know it.

I return to the living room and plop down on the couch, grabbing a fresh beer from the coffee table and popping it open. The TV is trained on some Los Angeles countdown celebration, mainly so that we don't miss midnight because we forgot to check the clock. While I sip my beer, Jaime drops onto my lap and kisses my cheek.

"Hey, sexy," he says before rolling off of me and grabbing a beer for himself. "What did Vic want?"

I shrug and wipe Jaime's saliva off of my skin. He's definitely feeding off of Justin's gay energy.

I tell him, "He basically said he's not going to be a dick about Krista." Jaime nods and takes an enormous swig, clearly already tipsy.

"So you have his blessing to get fucked in the ass by his brother?"

I laugh and nod. "It seems so."

Justin drops down and drapes an arm over Jaime's shoulders. "Who's getting fucked in the ass?"

Jaime explains, in explicit detail, a synopsis of my relationship with Mike thus far. I just sit back and answer Justin's inappropriate questions when they come. Eventually, the gossip turns elsewhere and I get bored of their no-homo affection and leave to seek out someone else to talk to. Alex just arrived, so he and Jack are engaging in a sickening greeting. I find Sierra walking out of the bathroom and catch her eye, so she comes over to me and gives me a massive hug.

"Dude, hi," she says. "I've missed you. Why didn't you tell me you're fucking the drug dealer?"

I grin awkwardly and pull up my pants. Should've worn a belt. "It was a secret at the time."

"Ah, okay. You're forgiven." She checks the time on her phone and then looks at me. "Do you realize how many condoms you have under the sink?"

"Oh, that's where he keeps the extras?"

"Extras? It's like a goddamn stockpile under there. You must have a lot of sex."

"Probably an unhealthy amount," I admit.

Sierra proceeds to tell me about this guy she met on her birthday after I kissed her; he took her home and they fucked four times. Then, she giggles and tells me about their nicknames for each other: she calls him Lefty, he calls her Squirt. There are not innocent reasons for those names.

Sierra and I chat for awhile, but as midnight creeps up, Mike pulls me into the kitchen.

"Hey," he says, leaning up against the counter. "She wasn't flirting with you, was she?"

I chuckle. "No. She has a boy toy now. One whose dick points slightly to the left."

"Good." He folds his arms. "You drunk yet?"

"No, I've only had two and a half beers."

"Damn. I like you drunk."

I laugh. "Why?"

"'Cause you do annoying shit. You're very handsy."

"You like that?"

"Damn right I do."

"You just said it was annoying."

He shrugs. "It is. Doesn't mean I don't like it."

I sip my beer. "Fair enough."

He asks, "How has your night been?" hopping up on the counter and patting the spot next to him. I climb up too, and he slides an arm around my waist and squeezes affectionately, which kind of makes me want to explode.

"Would it be too cheesy if I said it's better now?"

Mike chuckles. "Oh, don't worry, princess. I know." He grabs my beer from me and takes a sip before handing it back. "Same goes for you, though. You're the only one whose ass I can think about while talking to them."

I laugh. "I guess that does make it more fun."

He yawns and leans into me. "Has Vic been treating you okay?"

"Actually," I disclose. "He apologized."

Mike perks up in surprise. "Really? _Vic_ apologized?"

"Yeah, is that weird?"

"Pretty fucking weird. He's usually a stubborn little shit who hates people for no reason."

I hum. "Well, he said that he and I could start over. He'd forget the past and judge me based on how I treat you or some shit."

"Well, that's a goddamn relief."

I snort. "Tell me about it."

"When did you two talk?"

"An hour or two ago, in the hallway."

"Scandalous," he remarks, taking my drink from me one more time. "You know what we should do again?"

"Hmm?"

He swallows the beer and then says, "We should shotgun hits from each other. It was hot."

"You mean right now?"

"Nah. Maybe tomorrow. I'll be picking up some shit for a couple of deals; I could grab some extra for us."

"Weed on January first. Sounds alright."

"Cool." He smiles at me and pecks my lips. "I'm going to go grab some whiskey. You want anything?"

"Another beer?" I request. "Whatever is the least shitty."

He hops off the counter and corrects, "You mean whatever is the most pretentious-looking."

"Don't be a dick about it. I'm picky."

Mike squeezes my knee and kisses me again. "I guess I'll have to learn to live with it, won't I?"

He leaves before I can get another word in, which is fine. I know he's just joking around and doesn't mind my snobbery. In his absence, I train my ears on the TV. It's a quiet gathering we have going on, so it's easy enough. The perky announcer blabbers on about the crowd enduring the so-called 'freezing' weather (fifty degrees at the least) in the hopes of catching a good spot to watch the fireworks, which will go off in twenty minutes at midnight. New Years' Eve has always been a weird holiday to me. The only real traditions are fireworks and kissing at midnight. Basically, it's just an excuse to party and impress people with resolutions, which no one ever goes through with, yet still manage to have hopes for every year. It doesn't piss me off or anything; it just always tends to be a letdown.

I slurp down the last bit of my beer and chuck it in the trash just as Mike comes back with a fresh one. He carts his whiskey in a plastic cup, handing me my bottle. Instead of hopping up on the counter, he leans against the stove. Now, there's a loud dispute going on between Jenna and Justin. It's silent between Mike and I while we listen to them bicker over pop songs. Justin seems to think they're good; Jenna says they're overproduced. A comical chorus of exclamation erupts from the other guests every now and then, more often than not at something Jenna says. Justin's argument is weak.

"Hey," Mike cuts in eventually. I peer at him and he says, "Um, come here."

In curiosity, I slide off the counter and shuffle over to him. It's a short distance, and we were close before anyway, so I'm confused as to why he needs me all up in his grill. He places a hand on the small of my back and switches us around sot that my back is against the stove and he's facing me.

"I'm going to kiss you first," he says nonchalantly, eyes relaxed as he sets his whiskey down behind me.

"First? What do y—"

I'm silenced by his lips meeting mine and his form easing in to rest against me. He wraps his arms around my waist, but before I can set my beer down and grab him in some way, he detaches his lips and rests his forehead on mine.

"Hello," he says softly, playfully.

"Uh, hi," I respond.

He teases, "You know, you could at least _act_ like you enjoyed that kiss."

"What, I didn't moan enough?"

"No, but I'm sure you'll do great next time."

"Okay. Sorry for disappointing you."

Mike chuckles and kisses me quickly one more time before stepping back a little and cracking his neck to one side.

"So, why are you being weird?" I ask, studying him. He seems a little out of it, yet tense at the same time.

"I, uh...." He smiles diffidently at me and then puts his hands in his pockets. "I have something for you."

He seems nervous, which is a rare sight. He's the kind of guy who can take anything head-on and stop for drinks afterwards. If he's nervous, it must be something pretty serious. I nod encouragingly to ease his nerves.

"It's weird until I explain it," he stalls. "And I probably should've done this on Christmas, but I didn't even get the idea until a few days ago." He pulls something out of his pocket, but I can't get a look at what it is inside his closed fist. Before another word is said, he takes my left hand (the one not holding a beer) and presses something into it. I take it between my fingers and look at it.

A ring.

"It's not an engagement ring," he assures me immediately, which almost makes me let out a huge breath of relief. That wasn't my initial thought, because my initial thought was, 'what the fuck is this?' but I'm sure that was the next thing I was going to wonder. And that would be fucking strange. I've never seen myself as a marriage type of guy, and that's sure as hell not what Mike is. Especially since we've only known each other for less than four months.

I'm about to inspect it closer when his voice interrupts me.

"You're supposed to wear it like one. Like an engagement ring." I scan his expression, and he's definitely tense, standing rigidly by the counter with his hands at his sides. "I don't know if it's the right hand or the left hand; probably should've looked it up, but whatever. It's just to tell other people to back off. Make them _think_ you're engaged."

I'm too taken aback to know for sure what I'm thinking. This...is nice. This is a really nice gesture. The fact that Mike would do something like this lets me know that he's serious; that he's in it for a lot more than sex.

The ring is some kind of metal—just a band, but the light catches it and I notice an inscription on the inside.

_T.P. — PROPERTY OF M.F._

"I like the text," I laugh. He smiles, relieved.

"Yeah, I figured you wouldn't wear a collar, so I thought this would do fine." After another moment of me studying it, he inquires, "Do you like it? Like...it's weird, isn't it? I hope you don't think I'm a psycho jealous girlfriend."

"I thought I was the girlfriend," I tease before adding, "And, dude, it's really nice. It's weird, but in a good way. It's...." I laugh. "Unexpected."

"I'll take that as a compliment." He grins placidly at me before prodding, "See if it fits."

I slip it snugly on my finger, then off, then back on again with no problem.

"Perfect," I announce. I'm fighting a smile that wants onto my face just from the sheer shock of Mike doing something so damn emotional.

He nods, "Good."

"Hey." I step forward and wrap my arms around his neck, careful not to spill my beer. "Thank you. Now I know you're gay."

He snorts. "You're gay. You get off on having things put in your ass."

"You get off on putting things in asses." He runs his hands up and down my waist and I add, "You should let me top sometime."

He grimaces. "I don't know. Maybe on your birthday or something."

"I'll remember you said that."

He chuckles and presses a soft kiss to my lips. I nip at his lower lip, but he hums and pushes me back.

"I've got to say something, okay?"

I furrow my eyebrows, but nod, figuring it must be important.

He sighs. "This might fuck things up, but just...look, I know we've only been together for a couple of weeks, but it's basically like we dated the whole time. At _least_ since you moved in. And I wanted to say this shit so you know where I stand. I mean, it's pretty damn obvious with how possessive I get, but I want you to hear me say it."

He laughs nervously and continues, "I just...I love you. I know it's too soon, but I thought you should know in case you ever thought of fucking with me or something. And you don't have to say it back, but now you know."

At his words, my jaw drops. There it is. The swelling emotion. Mike just said something I never in a million years thought I would hear him say, unless _he_ was trying to fuck with _me_. But that's not how it sounded. No, he sounded nervous, like he was scared of the outcome. That's how people sound when they're not fucking around.

Mike Fuentes is in love.

Holy motherfucking shit.

When I'm silent for a few too many moments, he bites his lip and says, "Fuck, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that, right?"

"No," I assure him instantly. "No, it's okay. It's completely okay, as long as you meant it."

He looks at me calculatingly and then says finally, "Yeah. Yeah, I meant it."

"You sure?"

"Yes, damn." He rolls his eyes. "Stop rubbing it in. It's not something I'm going to be saying all the damn time."

"Sorry," I laugh. "I just wasn't expecting it."

"Well, I hope you'll think twice before you break up with me, alright? I'm not sure I'd take it well."

At first, I tilt my head in confusion because we just fucking confessed our love for each other, and he's concerned about me breaking up with him. Then, I realize what I haven't said and blurt out, "I love you too."

Mike stares at me in shock and then says, "Tone, you don't have to say it back. I won't get all pissy just because you don't...you know, feel the same way yet."

"No," I protest. "I mean it. I've been at peace with it for awhile."

"You're serious?" he asks hesitantly. I snort.

"Yeah, I'm serious. Hell, I thought it was obvious, but I guess you're just a dumbass."

"Oh, you'll pay for that comment, Perry," he says mischievously before snatching my wrists and pulling me to him. We're about to connect our lips when there's a crash and liquid soaks my jeans and I grasp that I dropped my beer.

"Dammit," I groan. "Look what you made me do."

"Damn, I've got looks so fine, I break glass."

"Fuck you," I sigh as I slip out of his grip and lightly scoop the glass into a pile.

"What broke?" Jaime's voice asks from the doorway.

"Tony's dick," Mike explains.

I protest, "That doesn't even make sense."

Mike tells him about me being 'captivated by his charms' while I rummage under the sink for a dustpan. By the time I find it, Jaime is disappearing back into the living room and Mike is folding his arms and smirking down at me.

"Make yourself useful and grab me a towel," I demand.

"You're feisty," he remarks, but tosses me a rag from the sink anyway. Soon, the mess is cleaned up and I'm standing up and stretching.

"You're a good little housewife, aren't you?" Mike murmurs into my ear suddenly, making me shiver. "Cleaning up that mess and shit." He puts his hands on my hips and my throat tightens. "Kind of turns me on."

I'm turning around to kiss him when Vic's voice interrupts us.

"Gross. Stop. Get in the living room; it's a minute 'til midnight."

I smile sheepishly at him while Mike just flips him off. Still, he grabs my hand and pulls me into the living room behind his brother.

"Hey," he whispers while we find a good place to stand. "Would you be opposed to blowing me in five minutes, in the bathroom or something?"

Honestly, I'm overcome with love to the point where I'd probably do anything he asked, but I decide to play hard to get and say, "We'll see."

"I'll convince you," he exhales into my neck, leaving his warm breath on my skin.

Once we're all settled around the room, he slips an arm around my waist and kisses my temple, which sends thrills through my heart. Valerie passes a glass of champagne to each of us and reminds us not to drink it until the countdown is over. When all movement has ceased, the TV is on sixteen seconds.

Alex starts up the ensemble, and soon, everyone is counting.

"Ten."

Mike brings the champagne to his lips.

"Nine."

He drinks it down.

"Eight."

I raise my eyebrows at him.

"Seven."

He winks at me.

"Six."

He sets his glass on the floor and reaches a hand up to mine.

"Five."

He tilts it to my lips, and I drink.

"Four."

He sets my glass down too.

"Three."

I'm turned to face him.

"Two."

He places one hand on the small of my back and the other on my cheek.

"One."

Mike dips me backward and smashes his lips against mine as everyone else in the room cheers, "Happy New Year!" The feeling of him holding me up and kissing me hard is a damn good one, and I'm blushing and in a daze when he pulls me up and grins at me. I grin back, out of the corner of my eye seeing Jaime grab Sierra by the face and kiss her. Well, that's new. Of course, there are others kissing; Jenna and Tay. Oli and Josh. Jack and Alex. Justin tries to kiss Vic, but he evades it and laughs, much to Justin's dismay.

Soon, Mike is pulling me into the hallway and calling out how we have 'business to take care of' and 'are not to be disturbed.' Besides a "Mike, you're fucking gross" from Vic, no one is bothered.

Once we're inside our room and the door is shut, Mike hums and puts his hands on my hips.

"Are you going to be a good boy and give me some head?" he coos while he presses himself against me. Admittedly, that's enough to turn me on, and I get to work.

I'd call it a fantastic fucking night. I can't say that I suck a lot of dick, but Mike seems to be happy with my performance; once he's come, he presses me onto the floor and returns the favor. And goddamn, for a guy who doesn't do many favors, his mouth feels like heaven.

When we're both composed, we return to the living room and curl up on the couch, chatting with Valerie about her husband, Beau. It's well past three AM before everyone goes home. Mike falls asleep on the couch, and I decide that I might as well clean up the mess of the party a little. I can't sleep because I'm fucking glowing.

As I pull a trash bag out from under the sink, Mike's words resonate through my brain.

 _I love you_.

I hate that I'm a complete teenage girl about some things, but the fact that Mike not only fucking loves me, but told me so, makes my insides bubble. It's hard to believe, and it's definitely hard to process.

But I think I deserve to just let myself believe it. I've done enough doubting; enough convincing myself I can't be loved. I'm smart enough to know that just because you're lucky to have someone doesn't mean they're not lucky to have you too. Maybe I'm good for Mike because I'm a bitch sometimes and can put him in his place. Obviously, an overly-nice person like Krista didn't work out, so maybe this will.

Either way, I plan to stick around and find out. Me landing Mike was a damn miracle, and it's not something I'm going to let go of any time soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The epilogue was going to be Tony topping Mike but then I was like 'nah.'
> 
> Sooo this is the end. I technically have an idea for a sequel, but I probably won't write it, and if I do, it'll be after I finish Safety Pins, Tundra, the unnamed tattoo shop a.u., and the other thing I'm going to be writing that doesn't have a name yet. The sequel would be in Mike's point of view and it would answer a lot of things I only brushed on in this story (like the fact that Tony was in love with Shayley. I don't think anyone caught on to that). For now, pretend the sequel doesn't exist. If you have any questions about this story, i.e. what happened to Jaime, what happened to Vic, whatever; message me and I'll answer them.
> 
> Thank you all for reading. I did 80% of the editing today and now I want to die, but at least it's over. This is the first time I've finished something and I'm glad that I was able to get so many positive responses. I'll be posting new parts of Tundra sporadically and the first complete part of Safety Pins will be posted on January 2nd.
> 
> Thanks again homies ✌
> 
> \- Josh


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